The Officious Intermeddlers
So, here’s how it happened. We found a beautiful painting, half scorched out in the wastes, and it looked like it might go perfectly in Blind King Norris’s house, so we took it home and refurbished it all up nice and shiny and set about our plan.
That is hardly enough detail to inform the new one of the art acquisition portion of our work.
Shut up Robot, this is my story, let me tell it my way.
Anyway, we had heard a while back that Norris had a job that nobody would touch with an eleven foot pole, so we got up a crew of masons and applied. He didn’t even check our credentials because apparently being an immortal emperor of wastelands you created makes you stupid or something.
Didn’t you tell us it turned out to be a trap?
Chraven, I swear to each of the hells that if you don’t shut up and stop spoiling the story I’ll quit right now.
Fine, continue with your factually questionable story.
Now, my part of the plan had absolutely nothing to do with the stonework, so I don’t really know what happened on that front, but we rode into town with them and when they took out the wall that was being replaced we were able to get through—bypassing contracts or some other nonsense—and get into the city.
It’s hardly nonsense to bypass the Bindings of a Dead King, Iara. I’ve explained this to you countless times.
You know what Davien? I don’t really care. That wasn’t my part of the plan, so I’ll leave it to you and your lawyer types to understand that stuff. Now, stop interrupting my super awesome story.
Now, where was I? The city was apparently warded by some super crazy magical bindings and we needed to use magical lawerism to worm our way through. That was the easy part though.
Once we were in the city we needed to sneak our way into Norris’s house, and this had to be done through good old fashioned sneakery. This was my part of the plan. Me, Davien, Thir, and Shiora were all in the city, but I’m the only one who has never been tagged by Norris or one of his agents in one of these heists, so I would have to go in alone.
Come on, you were hardly alone.
Norris’s house is barely even a house anymore, ‘cuz it’s like half the city, and he only keeps expanding it, so there’s plenty of places to sneak in, but he must not be totally stupid because he knows that and posts like a hundred golems at each of the entrances.
Yeah, but you weren’t alone, I went in with you.
You don’t really count, Robot.
How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not a robot.
It really doesn’t matter because you were just the distraction.
I had the painting though.
Whatever, stop interrupting my story.
This is really our story, though.
No, nobody else was there for the cool part, so this is my story.
Where was I before yet another interruption? Oh yeah, me and Chraven were sneaking into the house while Davien, Thir, and Shiora were scoping out the outside, placing their bombs and stuff.
They weren’t bombs.
They exploded! They were bombs! That’s kinda the defining factor.
Well—fair enough. They ended up being bombs.
Stop interrupting for real now, you’re pissing me off, and the new guy is practically falling off the couch waiting to hear what I’ve got to say.
Me and Chraven hopped in through a window just as the thing that definitely wasn’t a bomb exploded, so all the golems rushed that way, leaving us mostly empty hallways to sneak through.
Well, that’s what we had hoped would happen anyway.
When we dropped down from the window into the living room where we planned to hang the painting, like ten golems burst through the doors and surrounded us. It was a trap! I went right and Chraven went left, each of us having to juke around the golems to get out into the halls where they started to chase us.
As usual with golems, it was easy to outrun them for a short time, but they are literally a part of the place they are guarding and they can talk to each other without us hearing, so I was soon getting surrounded, my paths getting cut off.
But, and this is why you study the maps, I knew where I was. I wasn’t too far from the Kings treasury, and we—sorry, I—always like to make a point to get paid for our little incursions, so I made a bold plan on the fly. I turned left at the next hall, slid under the dining table built for someone who thinks they’ve got a lot of friends, ducked through a door with more gold then reason, and then used my kicky boots to bust down the locked door at the end of the hall.
You see, the problem with these Dead King, lawyerly types is that they always end up thinking they are invincible because of their bindings and contracts and stuff, but that makes them underestimate the power of a good pair of steel toe boots.
So there I was in the treasury of Blind King Norris himself, eyes filled with the glory of gold and silver and gems that were just waiting for the burgling touch I specialize in. I didn’t even see him until I already had my pocket stuffed full of necklaces.
The King was in there, carefully inspecting a fist sized emerald with invisible eyes in his empty sockets. His skin was pulled tight against his bones, and flaking off in places, and he smelled like he ain’t ever heard of a bath, and he put off such an aura of fearsome magic that I could barely even catch my breath (not that I wanted to, with that smell). I turned to get the hells out of there, but as quick as an eyeblink he was there, between me and the door. He still had the huge emerald in his bony fingers. And I really do mean bony. He has shed so much skin and muscle at this point that you can see right through parts of his hands.
He was grinning, though I don’t know that you can say a man whose lips have peeled off can ever really not grin. Basically, he had this smug sense of self-satisfaction as he looked down at me with his empty eye sockets.
“Ah, if it isn’t the officious intermeddlers who think it’s their job to pollute the peaceful world I’ve created with the tacky art and music of the past. I’ve been waiting to catch one of you for many years now. I figured the wall repairs would make the perfect trap for you.” His breath reeked of death, so that’s probably the main reason they call them Dead Kings.
Sigh.
Thir, you don’t say sigh, you can just sigh.
I can do whatever I want.
Guys, shut up, let me finish the story.
“There will always be a place for art in the world as long as there’s a place for humanity.” I whispered, defiant despite the fact that my bladder was trying desperately to drain itself and my knees were shaking from the effort of keeping that all in. Though, that might have been a perfect touch, piss on his floor. I’ll think of it next time.
Oh, come on, you can interrupt your own story right at the good part to talk about pee, but we can’t point out your factual mistakes?
Shut up Thir.
“Well, we’ll see how long your defiance lasts in the dungeons.” The Dead King said.
“I don’t intend to find out.” I kicked him in the face, steel toe ringing against warded skull like a bell had gone off in the room. The King was stunned, slowly raising dead fingers to the fresh new split in his scalp. It seemed that he wasn’t used to physical combat anymore, because it left him good and confused.
I saw my opportunity and I took it. I snatched the emerald from his stunned fingers and spun around him, darting through the maze-like halls of his ridiculous house. Lucky for me, Norris’s confusion seemed to affect the golems, because I slipped right past a couple of them, and then they slowed again when more bombs went off as Davien finally realized that the plan wasn’t working.
I jumped through a smoking hole in the wall and the golems gave up the pursuit as I joined with the others and we chucked bombs at them on our way out of the city.
What the hells Iara?
Hey, I wasn’t done! That was just a dramatic pause.
Sorry, keep going.
Well, you ruined it now. I was going to ask if the newbie was still interested in joining us after hearing what we do for a living, but the moment passed.
So, are you still interested in joining us? You’ve probably heard enough of the craziness of your potential co-worker to scare you off, so I wouldn’t blame you for walking away.
Hey, I’m not the only crazy one! Just ask the Robot how he still managed to put the painting up. It’s not as cool of a story, but still.
This group of dirty, malnourished Officious Intermeddlers turns to look at you, curiosity heavy in their eyes. The young woman who told you the story clutches to an apple sized gemstone and looks at you with a slightly manic look. The rest at least look more like the professional resistant force you had imagined when you sought them out. The question is now yours to answer, are you going to join them?
Notes About the Story:
This story was inspired by a random lawyer video on YouTube where he described the term “officious intermeddler” as someone who does a service for you without your permission and then demands payment for it. That immediately popped a dozen story ideas into my head, and the rest of the story was inspired by a whole slew of other random ideas that just seemed to fit into this world that I had come up with.
