Ka’rin was feeling annoyed this afternoon. She was inconvenienced at her favorite gnome-ish Italian coffee spot. How can the man-child get her order wrong? It’s just a doubled, tripled mocha Sheena Sigma frappe-Kappa Carmel cappuccino with a squirt of espresso. Gods, this is why anyone who can't live over 100 should still be in daycare. Had to pull out some of that drow charm on a city guard for going 45 in a school zone, a halfling school zone where the poor belong. When that didn't work, because who voted to give the police guards enchantment-resistant gear standard issue, belongs in one of the many special hells. Like she should have a say where the tax revenue goes, not just the Man-children. At least the elvenphobia worked like a charm.
She drove her deluxe horseless carriage into the parking yard of the local Swedish wall court. Close to the store entrance, taking up four spaces meant for the cripple and the Daft. Not like they need special treatment for being dumb enough to be crippled. The wasp queen teaches the crippled that they have no use for anyone but food for the earth and the young. It's so annoying that men think they're entitled to more positions in government just because they're men-children. Fuck democracy was a morbid mistake in the realms of the earth. Out of all the concepts to survive the reemergence in the 1500s, it was republics and personal freedoms. Her kind, the drow, could trace their Ancestry back thousands of years. She was meant to lead. Ka’rin by the order of the wasp queens had strong-armed her way into the embrace of a magktech millionaire, just widowed. Partially by her order, the man-thing didn't need to know that. She was clearly the dominant one in the relationship. The half-Gnome freak and his tech corp would be nothing without her.
Ka’rin is isolating him from his Man-child family, giving him the needed pain and suffering to know his place, regardless of putting him down, while leaving room for a “chance” to impress her. Become CEO of one of the largest Magictech firms, but still not good enough in the bedroom. Set up a charity to help limbless orphans; the resources could have been used for something better than weak and worthless, but the main thing she did for him to ultimately break the half-gnome was the tape. Even thinking about it made her laugh manically to herself as she flipped her bleached blonde inverted bob, showing over her long, dominating, pointed ears that marked her a true elf, the master of all elves, the drow.
Ka’rin invited her stupid quarter-breed step-offspring for a hike in the Abisko National Reserve, the man thing’s 15-year-old pop, Tomte. It was called, never took a liking to her, always calling her entitled and spoiled, as if those were bad things. Taking time from its band games, in the middle of all its worthless plans with its worthless friends, and still on her for kicking his puppy into that arc-tech powered tree grinder. Still, the bastard man-thing followed along anyway, trying their best to ignore her. Which was the plan all along, as once they got to a high enough spot over the river, she pushed Tomte over. Using her ye-orb, she filmed every painful tumble down the hill as it splashed the water's surface hard, letting the strong currents carry the sack-man flesh down its fast rapids, breaking bones against the rocks and piercing its skin with fallen trees. By the time it made land again, it was half-drowned…half-drowned.
Ka’rin could not help but burst out laughing at the final moments of that man's disgusting offspring. That broken look on the Magkutech CEO’s face as she made him replay the final moments of its half-breed Broodling. Making the demands any drow makes to a breeder to the wasp queen, they will have a proper child together, and she will inherit everything he has, or her covenant will find a way to frame him for the death of its crotch goblin. Her mate has been quiet for some time now, possibly trying to figure out the best way for the male to submit himself to her.
She can see the entryway to the wallcourt, grinning at the social pain she will inflict on the staff. Through the self-opening taroglyphed doors, employees understand that she prefers the term "surfs" to describe the poor, who are often tied to a single point in the land, illustrating the Degeneracy of poverty. In their blue dyed shirts, they all looked to be already dying inside at the very sight of her. However, before she can enter the store, she hears the heavy footsteps of worn army boots. The smell of cheap anti-sweat elixir on the skin, combined with the annoying range of the man's vocal tone.
“Hey-ah madame, a moment of your time,” a mix of backwater French-halfling sub Dialect and bastardized Swedish came from the short man-thing behind her.
She turned, glaring at what looked like a poor attempt at a plague doctor if the doc was too confident not to catch his disease. Wearing a long trench coat straight out of the First Magitech War, forever reminding her of the disappointment of the FMW2. The man-thing could stand more than her lower sternum. God, if she weren't in a public place and the younger races' fad of recording everything on their ye-orbs, she would have displaced its soul by now. Come to think of it, she thinks she's seen the man-thing hobo around town.
She looked down at the child, who had his face concealed in a strange black mask wrapped in bandages with micro-runes painted on them, likely unaware of their meaning. Especially since the mask was made from second-hand bandages wrapped around his head. The mask’s binding ends in a crisscross around the mouth. Thick goggles covered the things' eyes, not a built-in part of the mask, and the tears clearly show they have been well used. Scanning the man-thing, she can see that below the coat and the mask was a simple tan button-up long-sleeved shirt and overalls. Shit, it was one of those country poors, wasn't it? Could be diseased, Ka’rin thought to herself as she checked her purse to see if her familiar was with her, a long, black, and dark Purple dire wasp. It made eye contact with her, and the wasp shook her stinger in readiness.
“You have 5 seconds, which you seemingly wasted by existing, man-thing,” she berated, trying to step around the dirt farmer.
The man dared to dart in front of her, trying to stop her from entering the wallcourt. It was angering her that she could see the relief growing on the faces of the wage slaves through the Hexen glass windows. The Audacity of lesser beings!!!! From its long coat came an acoustic guitar. God, where are the days when Bards used real instruments? O by the queen It was singing.
My friend got a wife, ma'am; he really hates that winch.
He tells me every Fortnite.
He wiles, a dragon needs to take my lady.
if possible tonight.
Ka’rin looked at the manthing with more disgust by the minute. It was bad enough that he saw this waste of flesh, not even worth throwing to the wasps for consumption, but he was actively humiliating her. Worse the fuckng mutt was joining in on the chorus.
She sits on her asus all day, only giving him the time of day to complain.
While he slaves away, she just plots and schemes to take all his money away.
Well, my friend, you really need to say.
Ka’rin just put her nose up at the weak man-thing as she felt her familiar sterling in her mind, “want me to slay the worthless male Mistress?” The dark purple, black wasp was half the size of her designer enchanted handbag of holding. Poking its head out of the back and clicking its jaws in never-ending hunger and a need for blood.
“Not yet, love, too many Witnesses unfortunately,” she sent back to the wasp companion as the man-thing sang on with the edgy puppy howling along.
I wont take, I wont take this, no way-ay-ay-ay
Na-na witch, when will you get a heart.
Say no way, yeah, no way-ah No way-ay-ay-ay
Na-na, why don't you get a soul?
At this point, Ka’rin had had enough of this shit, made a heel turn, and just started marching off to the wallcourt. She had to bully an entry-level peasant or at least murder someone’s service chimera, which would make her day after this. A pause overtook her as purple blood filled her mouth. She looked down in shock to see the head of a thick blade sticking out of her stomach. She felt it pull out of her body and was forcefully turned to face her attacker. It was the beggar bard holding a machete, dripping in her blood.
Ka’rin gritted her teeth as blood dripped down her ashen colored chin as she screeched “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM MAN-THING!!!”
“Nope” was the attacker's response as he grabbed her by her designer shirt and thrust the blade into her chest.
“Just that you love being a dick to everyone you meet and murdering children, but that's just a normal Tuesday for you, bee cultist types.”
“It's a wasp you fucking-” Ka’rin screamed as she was thrown to the ground, the farm tool painfully being removed by the force of the man’s kick as her masked attacker started to bash the blade onto her body, with the carelessness that one would show to the weeding of a garden.
Ka’rin, in her dazed state, quickly conjured a barely passable shield sign, mainly drawing from her quickly draining stamina as the homeless man-thing slashed his blade at her with abandon. She was drawing on the Astral link to her wasp familiar, annoyed that through their shared site, the entitled laborers of the wall court were taking projections with their ye-orbs, to share on the social weave signs, on the Astro web.
“I found your focus rod, Mistress, and my venom is yours to command, mistress of the wasp mother,” she heard from the psychic link as she let her feeling command her familiar, hand raised in preparation.
When she heard a familiar howl from behind where the wasp spawned, it only had enough time to look behind to see the hooded mutt back flipping on top of it, closing the bag onto its pinched waist, effectively cutting it in half. The psychic backlash was enough to sap the last of her strength. The purse-sized insect, its stubby front limbs flailing in shock, dragged entrails and viscera behind it before the Beagle pup began to bite through its exoskeleton.
The stranger, seeing the dark Elf, was practically helpless and went to pocket the rod, her rod. A Spark and Westridge, 207 model handrod with questionable legal extended weave mana capacity, high-end dueling grip, and a true underworld purple Ruby focus. It was her gift for rising in the ranks of the sisterhood, and now some worthless male man-thing had it.
“My….sisters…will find you…my husband owns…”
“I don't care what yacht club you belong to, lady, like H-E double broomstick S your husband, the client, is paying us for killing his kid and filming it for gods knows what,” the assassin casually remarked as he quickly carried her over his shoulder.
She was in stunned silence; the man she was assigned to get close to had the nerve to hire an assassin. The sisterhood had scouted and determined what kind of male the gnome was. Passive, grieving, small in stature, and weak at heart, she finally breaks the small man thing, and he just hires an assassin. The nerve, the dastard to take such drastic measures for one as important as herself, as her ancestry demands.
“Man-thing… I will pay you well to…go after the miserable male that hired you…I, as all of my kind, have the means to-”
“Don't care,” the man-thing assassin dismissed so callously as she was dropped into the loading mechanism of some kind of machinery.
Ka’rin could hear the shouting of mundane wage slaves as the assassin pulled out an orb, a ye-orb as the man-thing took a selfie, putting up devil horns as he lay in what looked to be a, oh no, by all that was in the dark queen's name. It had hexed tech equipment, namely a Chamber-fed wood shredder, Similar to the one she used on that worthless husband’s half-abomination of a child. She could see the yellow vests and reflective helmet charms of city laborers trying to stop the dark-cloaked man.
The man, thing with the Brutality of an apefolk, batted the first worker unconscious with the blunt side of his machete before sticking it in a nearby tree, causing gasps and screams from what she could assume was the rest of the crew running for their prophetic lives. She could hear the machine’s weave battery power up the runecraft, vibrating with need to rip and sred. The masked man moved to lower the lid over her. Ceiling her in, sealing her fate.
Ka’rin screamed “WHO ARE YOU???” as the masked assassin looked at her dead in the eye.
“Raymundo the assassin, Ma’am and you are going to be some messy firewood” was the last she heard as haxtech wood Strider sent her painfully back to the shadow Palace where the wasp Queen waits to judge all of her ladies in waiting.