The Annals of the Butcher

Prologue

I’m not as I once was…

Though it’s a cliché statement, and rather easy to claim as anyone with any wits about them can make the same assertions, it is the truth. We were all once children after all. In our innocence and ignorance of youth, and through the pleasurable and terrible experiences, we grew into the men we are.

I daresay life oft flips a coin. I’ve been the victim of such misfortunes more times than I care to count. Such is the consequence of living my life. My experiences have shaped me into a gambler, a drunkard, and a very good smuggler of all manner of goods. Unfortunately, such a life is hard to live without coming to the attention of some less than desirable folk. Damned as it may be, it's these folk who often employ those like me, or would see my body dangling from the noose. As I said, life oft flips a coin…

It is this incessant game of chance that we call life, that has led me to the servitude of the Brittany Consortium. Yes, I’m now as I always have been, a damned good smuggler for yet another group of brigands and bureaucrats, but this time it is far different. I’m not being paid for my services you see, and as damnably stupid as that may sound, there are some things worse than that. A castration would be the first topic my mind would settle. After all, the life of a drunken, gambling smuggler leads one to the beds of some very lovely ladies, who more often than naught are married to wealthy and dangerous men.

And thus the tale begins, as many of my tales do, beneath the sheets with a foreign beauty whose name I cannot remember... I’ll skip those details, but allow me to say that her husband is a man whose name is known across the realm of Gallea. Richemont, the Duke of Dunland, and head of the Brittany Consortium. Though the title of duke begets the imagery of a regal man clad in velvets and gold buttoned waistcoats, he’s anything but that. No, my friend, he’s a cur just like me, but there lies a difference betwixt us. He’s wealthy, and owns more of the Northerlands than any other. When I say ‘owns’ I mean that not as a way of describing his lands, though his estate is quite large. I mean to say, he’s long since bought off the kings, princes, dukes, and nobles from the Straits of Francland to the Small Sea in the south. Yes. He’s not a king, but kings bend their knees to him, for he controls the money, and when one controls the money, they control everything. After all, kingdoms require armies, and those armies need to be paid. Everything is money, from the scraps of clothes that the peasants wear, to the vast fleets of the Gallean Beggars. Gold causes the tides to rise and fall, and has long since brought many a kingdom to fruition and ruin, and has and always will be my true mistress.

Yes, I do what I do not for the stories, nor the women, nor the grog, but for the gold. I’ve long since shed my family name, a name which has brought me little more than disdain and failed bounty collections. Though at one time, the Lorraines were the wealthiest house in all of Gallea, power resides only in the strong, and though we had money, we lacked a very important trait – the ambition to retain it. Yes, my father, good as he was, was arrogant and foolhardy in ways that I can only describe as childish. He always believed in loyalty, but loyalty only resides in those whom are well paid, and there are always those who wish to have more than their share. As such, those banners of Men-At-Arms and vassal houses rallied to those who paid them better. Such as it was, our noble house was overthrown and buried amongst the pages of history.

Now, here I am – a drunken degenerate with a sharp sword and a sharper wit, who like all others, goes where the money is best, or where I may practice my many talents without risk of being detached from my balls. Yes, not quite everything is about money…