League of Unsavory Gentlemen



Impatiently, Bigby sat astride his horse.

No beer.

No wenches.

No fighting.

The bugbear’s patience, what little he had of it, was worn past thin. The bard had promised him all three. And the slut had promised him bitch tickets.

Several days it had been like this, riding toward a place called South Docks. Bigby had been hot on the trail of this rumored cult of the Justinii, when his compatriots dragged him to an inn where a haggard, stodgy innkeeper had haggled his friends out of thirty thousand gold pieces, for the promise of significant action. But no action had been found, and for the last several days Bigby would randomly bellow, “THIRTY THOUSAND?!?” to no one in particular. It had gotten to be routine at this point, but his little buddy the priest had made a point to the rest of the party that a pissed off, impatient bugbear was exactly what they would want if things were to get ugly.

Still, Bigby was bored, and spent his time in the saddle planning how to carve thirty thousand gold worth of skin, “THIRTY THOUSAND!?!”, off that innkeeper. Then the group came to a halt near a tavern of dwarven design.

THIS THE PLACE?” asked Bigby, eager to get off his horse.

He listened to the bard make his plans, and watched as the guards were entranced by the slut’s magical halfling teats. He would have been more interested in the teats, but Bigby was thirsty, there was money to be made, and there were asses to be kicked.

Once inside the tavern, the bard leaned over to the slut, and suggested, “The old one-two?”.

Cora winked, then sashayed across the room, while the bard turned back to Bigby and whispered, “…and if this all turns sour, you’ll be Number 3,” then himself strolled toward a young bard sitting on the other side of the stage.

Bigby pondered for a second…Three. His favorite number, and a number he could reliably count even when staggeringly drunk. Well, he could handle bringing his warhammer out when necessary, but more important was to get the attention of the barkeep. He glared at the bar, then bellowed,


A satisfying scramble and several casks of bear, ale, and piss poor wine later, Bigby found himself alone at the end of the bar. But he was not alone for long, for no sooner had Bigby just started to feel that familiar buzz than a dwarf suddenly appeared at Bigby’s side.

APPARATING DWARF!” cried the bugbear, as he reached quickly for his warhammer.

“No, no… Calm down my hairy friend! I am but a humble messenger!”

YOU MOON DWARF?” snarled the barbarian, with a look of questioning rage.

“I know not of what you speak, but you are the one known as The Braindoom, yes? You will not believe me, I know this, but you have a fan.”

Bigby pondered this news. A fan. How could one possibly become a fan of Bigby, given his proclivity for mayhem and destruction? Bigby recalled his management training. The bard would suspect the fan was a spy.


“Oh ho! The Baroness is most definitely a fan of you and your work. Your guild has become a quite popular source of scuttlebut in certain, shall we say, ‘social’ circles… circles you would do well to pay heed. Come now, come with me. She wishes to meet you. Come. There’s better wine.”

The dwarf stood, motioning for the bugbear to follow. Bigby grabbed the several bottles of ale he had accrued, then lurched towards the dwarf. As the dwarf moved towards the darkened corner of the tavern, Bigby noticed a hidden alcove, wherein a false door lead to a hallway, leading to an adjoining room. As he followed the dwarf through the hallway, Bigby decided upon seeing this hidden, spatious room that it could not be any more different from the tavern he had just left. This was obviously a room for a higher class of clientele. Leather furniture. Tapestries on the walls. And suede cushioned alcoves where the room could be surveyed without those inside being spied upon. A stately human waiter approached, with a selection of wine bottles expertly balanced on a platter.

“Wine, sir?” asked the waiter, as he only briefly paused while glancing at the dwarf for an assurance to his safety.

“HA,” said Bigby, laying his bottles of ale on the floor, then taking the platter from the waiter.

“Come, my friend. She is just over here,” the dwarf said, as he guided his new hulking friend to one of the more private corners of the room.

As Bigby was directed towards the entrance to the alcove, the dwarf halted, then said with an air of finality, “Have fun, my friend. When you meet the Baroness, be sure to tell her Fistbeard Beardfist sends his regards.” Then with a flourish and a roguish grin, the dwarf departed.

Bigby ducked into the alcove.

“Oh my goodness. You ARE a big one, aren’t you?” said a surprisingly attractive human woman, who must have been pushing 60 years of age, but could have passed for half as much. Bigby was impressed with her silvery hair, her golden jewelry, and mostly her staggeringly healthy teats.

YOU FAN?! WANT SOME COCKS?” Bigby asked, as delicately as he could muster.

“As a matter of fact, yes, but let’s have some drinks first,” she slyly deflected, as she motioned towards a bucket of fine wine sitting at her table.

“You’ll need some training, but I think you’ll work just fine for my purposes…. Listen, may I call you Bigby?” asked the baroness.

WINE!” replied Bigby, obviously too preoccupied to be paying appropriate attention to the conversation.

“Yes, you will do fine. Look, Bigby, I believe we have something to offer each other, something that would be mutually beneficial for each of us. Extremely beneficial.”


“Yes, yes, that would be part of it, I’m sure, but there’s plenty more I can offer, if you are interested, and if you’re interested in offering me something in return.” the Baroness suggested.


“How about I show you something first, maybe then you’ll understand?” the Baroness asked, trying to keep the bugbear’s attention by keeping things as simple as possible.

The bugbear grunted his agreement, not-too-secretly hoping to see one of the Baroness’ teats. Unfortunately, she stood up instead, offering her arm to him. As he stood, she gently grasped his arm and began walking with him…out of the alcove, through yet another hidden door, then down a long flight of stairs. They entered a dark room, with a floor covered in hay, and what appeared to be several holes in the wall for spying.

Of course, the room wasn’t dark for the bugbear, who eagerly declared, “I KNOW WHAT THESE FOR!” and proceeded to stick two of his thrice cocks into the holes in the wall.

Within seconds, he immediately heard from the other side of the wall a muffled yell, “Godsdammit Bugbear! Get in here!”

The slut? Bigby withdrew, then peeked into the holes, where he spied a startled group of dwarves casting about wildly looking for an unseen bugbear, while another dwarf was attempting to mount his diminutive slut buddy.

With a frightening rage and a cry of “MOON DWARVES!”, the bugbear grabbed his warhammer, and in two tries smashed through the wall, charging into the room. Within an instant the nearest dwarf was pulverized beyond recognition. A second swing of the warhammer and a second dwarf was disemboweled, having removed his armor. A third dwarf clearly shat himself, and dropped to the ground, scrambling for the corner of the room, although there was no obvious place to flee.

The two remaining dwarves put up a fight. A brief fight, but a fight nonetheless. The first dwarf let loose a battlecry, “FOR AMUN!” and proceeded to cut at the bugbear, who was now in a full-on barbarian battle rage.

As the dwarve’s sword merely nicked his bugbear hide, the bugbear cried, “FUCK YOUR MOON!” and bit half of the dwarf’s face clean off. What was left of the dwarf made noises. Disgusting noises.

As the last, half-naked dwarf slowly distanced himself from the massacre in the gaol cell, he was suddenly halted by the prick of a knife to his throat and a whisper,

“Since you couldn’t be a good example, you’ll have to be a horrible warning,” and with a deft maneuver, so quick even Bigby didn’t quite see, the halfling quickly held up a pair of dwarven testicles and a tiny dwarven cock. Breathing heavily, Cora and Bigby eyed each other, then turned upon the dwarf attempting to claw his way through the wall of the cell.

But before they moved a step, a slow clap startled them both from their intent.

“By the gods! You really are everything I hoped you would be,” remarked the Baroness, who Bigby had all but forgotten, as she stepped through the hole in the wall. “We have so much to discuss. Now grab that dwarf and follow me, unless you wish to fight your way out through the tavern?”

Bigby appeared to wish exactly that, but Cora instead asked, “Who the hell are you, and what do you want with us?”

“I am the Baroness Rawlin, and I want Bigby to marry me.”



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