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Mrachko
Mrachko's Gallery (11)

The Servant Cat

[Commission] Thievery: The Ruins of Expansion; or the criminal teacher and her flaming butt
the_servant_cat.doc
Keywords boots 8051, dark 7432, in 3738, fairy 3521, punk 3361, tale 737, myth 361, puss 253, fairy tale 165, fable 63, mythpunk 2, fablepunk 1, reimagine 1
The boy was filled with greed. Denied an inheritance by his brothers, for they knew what he was, he resorted to me. In his mother's ancient tomes, he found me. He had slaughtered the family cat to get my attention, offering his father's boots as compensation. The boots his father had been buried with. He wanted wealth, power, women. I've worked with summoners, conjurers and magicians, both masters and novices at the craft, both pure and corrupt. His impatience glistened like glass in the dust. All he wanted could have been achieved without my presence. But here we were.

This boy. This strange, evil boy looked at me from his circle, eyes aflame with madness. I was bound to his will. And yet, I was strangely intrigued. I agreed to be his patron.

I ordered him to sew up the carcass of the poor beast, placing my seal inside it. He was clever, adding the triangle around the seal. It took me three days to re-animate the corpse, physical reality being the dense miasma that it is, but the cadaver fit me well.

He wanted his brothers dead. I snuck into the house where they lived and slashed their throats in their sleep. The mill, left by his father, was now his.

It had been decades since the mill was in pristine condition, yet it still worked, doing a slightly less than an ideal job. Naturally, when the boy got a hold of it, he ran it into the ground. He didn't toil in the fields, nor did he buy wheat from the villagers, so he never used it. When the hail and snow came, he did not lift his finger. He didn't hire masons for the upkeep. He spent what little coin was left in the taverns. And when the debt collectors came, we ran south.

Hungry, cold, and angry, the boy fell victim to his darker nature. Being of a small frame, he didn't have the strength or intimidation to rob people, but he did manage to steal food and coin whenever he got the chance to. Until his luck betrayed him.

He stole an apple one day at the market. And he was beaten senseless by the shop owner. He took his clothes as compensation for the fruit.

Left bruised, bloody and naked, the boy blamed me for his toils. He ordered me to do good by our agreement and bless him with treasures as I had promised him.

I was nothing, if not a good and humble servant and I left, seeking to find a way to fulfil his wishes.

As luck would have it, I happened upon a most curious site - an odd boy. But he was no boy. He believed himself to be one, but his joints were metal, his bones were wood, and his hair was painted on. He lamented that he had never felt the touch of another human. Had never tasted any food that he had eaten. If he spoke even the tiniest of white lies his body would physically deform.

He asked for my help, to relieve him of these curses. I was willing to give it to him if he told me who made him this way. He pointed towards the horizon, telling me of a cruel sorcerer by the name of Carabas Barabas, who ruled over these lands. As promised, his plights never bothered him again. I left him hanging from a tree by his neck.

The people tending the land could barely be called people. Like the boy, they were of wood, most teeming with termites. The ones unable to work were thrown onto festival pyres each night. The animals were another deviance entirely. I could see beyond their form and flesh, see what they were in truth - young, little boys, being beaten and overworked on fields they could not at all recognize. Boys masquerading as animals and puppets masquerading as people. A horrid theatre for those involved.

I snuck into the castle late at night to find the sorcerer at a feast with animals dancing, singing and playing instruments for his amusement.

But the sorcerer Carabas Barabas was another puppet and I could see his strings being pulled from behind the throne by one of my many colleagues.

It didn't take long for me to be noticed and recognized by my peer, at which point a pleasant and sophisticated conversation followed. He explained to me the situation he was in, being summoned by the sorcerer and forced to help him in his perverse goals. I responded in kind, with my story so far. He was tired of serving this oaf and offered an exchange - my master would be granted rulership if I was to devour the sorcerer.

The deal was struck.

Although I was bound to the corpse of a cat, I could still manipulate its form. The bones cracked, elongated, ripping through the skin. The muscles pulled and thinned. The claws and teeth grew in length and sharpness.

I gored Carabas Barabas on the spot, as if he were a tiny mouse. His halls redecorated in his viscera and his throne, the sitting place of a body drained of blood and insides.

I took my master to his new domain and he soon took up the title of Marquis. Marquis de Carabas.

Finally, his greed was subdued. He took a liking to his new position, getting rid of all the marionettes from his land, inviting farmers to work under his rule. But with his power soon came great boredom. He was tired of the feasts, the drunken revelry, the thieving of maidens every fortnight. He wanted a wife. One who would be subservient and loyal. It wasn't long until he found one. And for once, he sought my guidance.

He wished for a way to truly know of the woman's loyalty. And so, I produced a key for him. A golden key, which if used on the door of the dungeon, would bleed. I instructed him to give it to his wife and tell her not to use it. And his reaction shocked even me. He was grateful.

Naturally, the marquis was a man unable to be loved, so his wife disobeyed him.

And he personally cut off her head, leaving her corpse on display in the dungeon.

He found another wife, whom he gave the same test and who failed him, meeting the same fate.

A new one followed. And another. And another.

The years went on. His viciousness and cruelty bled into his body. As Cain was marked for his transgressions against God, so was the marquis branded for bloodthirst. Albeit a much more rugged mark, than whatever the son of man bore. His beard, once black, now bore the shade of the night sky during the full moon, a gentle blue.

His tyranny continued, until the day his actions caught up with him. The brothers of his most recent wife stormed the castle. Once again, as in years before, he was beaten and disrobed, while his castle was ransacked. They crucified him on the bed, where he forcefully deflowered so many maidens from the village, and was left with a parting gift - a sword hanging from a horse's hair above his head.

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by Mrachko
A bit of a Neil Gaiman-esque reimagining of the "Puss in Boots" fairy tale

Just a note, that I am open for commissions if anybody is asking =3

Keywords
boots 8,051, dark 7,432, in 3,738, fairy 3,521, punk 3,361, tale 737, myth 361, puss 253, fairy tale 165, fable 63, mythpunk 2, fablepunk 1, reimagine 1
Details
Type: Writing - Document
Published: 2 weeks, 1 day ago
Rating: General

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