```metadata title: 'SHORT STORY: A Simple Man’s Job' description: '' tags: '' systems: [] renderer: legacy ``` ```css /*=======--- Example CSS styling ---=======*/ /* Any CSS here will apply to your document! */ .myExampleClass { color: black; } ``` # A Simple Man’s Job Yrgul takes out garbage. Yrgul has always taken out garbage. Some garbage smells. Some garbage is messy. Some garbage cries for help and tries to tell Yrgul that it has children and didn’t mean to upset the Damaxis Family. This is the garbage that Yrgul likes to take out the best. Why? Crying garbage tells secrets. Begging garbage tells Yrgul where treasures are. Sad garbage makes Yrgul happy.
The well dressed Ogre moves further down the street looking at the scrap of paper in his meaty hands. He removes his businessman’s hat and scratches his scabbing scalp. He isn’t stupid as far as Ogres go... Unfortunately that isn’t very far. Still, this one can read basic words, and can speak common quite a bit better than the typical “Ogre, angry!” “Ogre hurt man!” “Ogre poop pants again.”
Yrgul “The Janitor” is one of Tethran Damaxis’ favorite weapons of mass destruction. The others started calling him The Janitor years ago, in a bit of irony, as Yrgul often leaves the scene a far greater mess than he finds it. But like all good irony the name has the ring of truth. If Yrgul has come to your door, you’ve been discarded by the family. You are now trash to be taken out.
“Flowers on sides of door. Door is Blue. Has a moon on it.” In the dimness of predawn Yrgul squinted at the drawing meant to help him identify his target, and then again at the door in front of him. He smiles, pretty sure he had the right place
In a flash with a reflexive speed one would not normally expect to see from an Ogre, he rushes forward turning the fine wooden door and framework into a pile of splinters as he lay his shoulder into it. The woman inside screams in terror and gathers her children behind her. She begins begging for her life and for The Janitor to spare her little ones. All of whom are now sobbing in unison like some tearchoked street choir. She begs him to refrain from eating them.
Yrgul thinks this is a foolish request. It is hopeless. If Tethran wants them dead then begging will not help, and there are few things more offensive to an Ogre than suggesting that he waste food. Yrgul has spent more nights enraged at the waste of the people in Kavasto than he can remember. Bodies left rotting in the street. Piles of carcases burned. Burry the dead? Such a waste.
Sadly, Yrgul was told *not* to eat the wife and children. At least today. Most of the time a visit like this is usually followed up by another in a week or two. That made Yrgul happy. Children’s heads are like little candied fruits. Yrgul loves candy.
“Where is your husband?” The Janitor grows. The woman begins to blubber something unintelligible. Maybe it was because Yrgul isn’t as smart as others, or maybe, it was because crying people often sound like they have a pot roast in their mouth when they’re trying to speak. The twelve foot monstrosity of rippling muscle and foul odor leans forward, its jowls dripping with saliva between rotting teeth.
The woman wretches, heaving what was in her stomach onto the floor. The smell of the ogre’s breath and the panic in her guts simply becoming too much. Yrgul puts a finger in the vomit and then sucks it clean in the way a child would test cake batter. He then smiles calmly. Too calmly. For a moment there is peace but he then grabs one of the children by the head with lightning like reflexes in one hand and punches a massive hole in an outer wall with the other. Early morning light poured through the hole illuminating The Janitor in a halo of glowing dust as he dangled the four year old in front of the woman as a dog’s master would a treat.
“WHERE!?” He bellowed loud enough to rattle dishes. The Children stopped crying for a moment. Stunned by the sound. Everything stopped for a moment. Then the little one he was holding by the head began screaming. Yrgul moved it closer to his mouth. “Where? Is? Husband?”
“He… he… is down at the docks. He is expecting a shipment. Look for a boat… the Ocean Rose.”
“See, not so hard.” Yrgul takes the screaming child and passes it with perfect gentleness back to the woman. He pats it on the head. And caresses its face with a dirty calloused finger. Looking around he smiles and grabs an old cabinet filled with what appear to be family treasures. “I like these. You mind?” The woman shakes her head no, and then begs him to take the items and leave.
The Ogre smashes his way out of the hole he made in the wall and strolls off down the street casually brushing the debris from his clothes. Yrgul is rather proud of himself, and he rips the glass door off the cabinet, and begins fiddling with the items inside. Silverware goes in the pockets. A few statues, meh, but he can trade them for a goat or something. What has really caught his eye was the gold ring. Probably something a human would wear on their head. To small for Yrgul’s head. So he slides it over his meaty thumb.
And that’s when the world around Yrgul begins to change. His words and thoughts become extremely clear. His memory sharpens and he begins recalling events from years ago. He can read all of the words on the signs over the street shops. He stares in awe for just a moment at the ring on his finger. It is glowing a faint red but slowly fades. Magic?! He stops and takes in the sights as with every passing moment his intellect increased.
The bright rays of the morning sun had fully crested the buildings now, he has been thinking for an hour. Thinking! What a marvel. He needs to hurry though, and as he jogs toward the docks he begins to work through his assignment. Tethran was worried that Mr Irniks was holding back coin from his payments. Not much, such a small amount that it was almost unnoticeable. But Tethran Damaxic notices things like that. You don’t become head of the largest crime family on the continent by being unobservant.
\page Yrgul arrived at the dock just in time to watch the Ocean Rose come in. Its captain guiding the craft expertly into port while the port hands efficiently tethered it to the dock. The captain disembarks and greets Yrgul’s target. They exchange pleasantries as the captain passes the man a well crafted box. Stolregard Gray Oak by the look of it. Gold cornered, with silver inlay. The box alone is obviously worth hundreds. Yrgul approaches the men.
“Pardon me gentleman, I’ve been sent by Mr Damaxic. He believes you owe him a sum of coin. I will take that box as payment and if you have any disagreement with this arrangement, I’ll beat you senseless right now, and you can take it up with Mr Damaxic later.”
To say that the men stared at the ogre in bewilderment would be an understatement. In fact, they were in such awe that no violence ensued. They simply handed over the box and gaped as The Janitor started to walk away. They didn’t become frightened until the ogre stopped about a dozen or so paces down the dock. He turned with a look of clever wickedness that does not belong on a face so brutish, and returned to further the conversation.
“Normally at this point, I would have you screaming and begging for me not to destroy your boat or this dock or your very lives. And you would promise me something if I were to spare you. Although it pleases me that I was able to accomplish my task for Mr Damaxic so easily, I am deeply grieved that you have not offered me anything in exchange for… oh lets say… not rippin both your arms off.”
And with a tearing sound one of the captain’s arms seemingly just popped out of the socket and wound up in Yrgul’s mouth being chewed on like a farmer with a shaft of wheat. The captain started screaming, which was a rather invasive sound and so the Ogre pushed him into the water below. Losing blood the way he was and only having one arm, it was mere moments before the man submerged under the water to never be seen again.
And so the garbage began to cry for help and tried to tell Yrgul that it has children and didn’t mean to upset the Damaxis Family. This is the garbage that Yrgul likes to take out the best. Why? Crying garbage tells secrets. Begging garbage tells Yrgul where treasures are. Sad garbage makes Yrgul happy. And now Yrgul was smart enough to realize the true value of everything being said. It is short sighted when people say that custodial work is low brow and for those who are too simple to do better. The way Yrgul saw things now, he was going to do just fine. A Simple Man's Job would be just fine indeed.