All the commoners, peasants, and wealthy-folk and middle class gathered in the streets before Keshin's parade, enslaved canines, their slavers robed in brilliant, golden outfits lining the roads, proceeded by hulking brutes hauling wild boars, viciously snapping out.
The boars had lashes across their bellies, and decayed wolf fur hooked to their razor-sharp fangs, and an unmoving stare, the hogs was a troop of elephants tugging mauled corpses, and perched on the elephants, a parade of hunters in tattered robes, while bystanders watched helplessly as the parade marched down the roads, past the saloon, where Narniff quietly observed their facetious glamour. "I haven't seen such a boastful, yet humble, honest, yet deceitful, simple, yet such glamorous act since— the tyrannical rule of my father, Davao Jarun-Ine, who once led a parade of horses to trample upon dead bodies in an empire sent to ruins, just to spite their emperor, and to incite terror in his empire's streets. It was a dark night— the Moon was too scared to peek from its hiding spot beneath our land. It's a glamorous, terrifying demonstration of power— they should be counseled by authority."
The bartender slid him his whiffey, with a mix of sugar, some darrint squid's belly ink and milk, and a quiet teabag of poision, allowed to simmer and dissolve in the thick, muddy, saccharin delectable. "No amount of counseling will shift their egos, and authorities see them as an easy paycheck. If The Wildsmoke Gun-toters don't rally against their propaganda, Man's Grudge send them a bonus. Corruption deals harsh blows only."
Narniff mentioned, "I heard whisperings my wife was dead. Then I walked to my cottage, and on my porch was her head. Tell me the truth and truth only. Is this jar of whiffey stale or poisioned, or both?"
"It's neither." The bartender looked denyingly. "It's neither. I promise you— it's neither."
"Tell me the truth," Narniff said grimly. "Is the drink poisoned, or is it stale?"
"It's neither," the bartender repeated. "It's neither— I swear— it's neither—" The bartender drew close to his pistol. Then he finally confessed, "The drink isn't stale—"
"So it's poisoned," Narniff concluded. "So you tampered with my drink."
The bartender's fingers hand jerked away from his gun. "I was under Sheriff Jareem's payroll. He hired me to take you out because he felt you knew too much."
"The man's a cheapskate..." Narniff sighed, before quaffing down the poisioned beverage. "You're lucky I took anti-poison ailments this morning. Now I'll bet you didn't kill my wife, and I'll let this slip. But you stay out of my way, or I'll have two skulls on my porch."
Keshin strutted into the bar. "Jareem's dead— greet your new sheriff."
Narniff mumbled to the bartender, "Stay out of this. This is personal affairs."
Keshin produced his rifle amidst shocked, yet drunken, bar patrons. "I'm surprised you didn't sputter bull's manure. You said something right— the bartender needs to stay out of our business. Now's his chance to leave, in fact."
The bartender and his patrons scrambled away, leaving broken beer steins and vodrah jars littered amongst bar tables and stools.
Keshin grinned with vicious intent. "My offer stands firm— release my prisoner or the parade marches on, and I hold a demonstration, and slaughter those miserable wolves I hold as trophies and slaves— and end their suffering— right then and there. You have one depleting minute remaining in your favor, to debate amongst yourself, and I suggest you choose carefully."
"Here's my two cents," said Narniff. "You wouldn't kill your litter, and you don't scare me— so mosy off while you still can— because I have blades and mind."
"How bold of you—" Keshin trailed off. "How bold of you to threaten me with such cold intentions— a stone heart— a narrow, beehive mindset— a weak bounty hunter facade for a scared child. I killed your wife, and I killed her without compassion, then I murdered Sheriff Jareem."
Narniff levelled his gun. "I don't have facades. I am who I deem myself to be— Whatever I deem myself to be, I decidedly am."
Keshin jeered, "Is that what you told this town— 'ex-bounty hunter?' Your most recent job was under my payroll— Davao Jarun-Ine ring a bell? Your most recent job was a successful attempt against your father's life— which you subsequently blamed on Sheriff Jareem and his father, the new emperor, for overthrowing."
Narniff repeated, "The emperor overthrew my father. You're a liar."
"I tell confusing truths—" Keshin jeered again. "—but I am not a liar. Once the people find out you took your father's life— they won't see you as the heroic rebel they see you now. They'll see you as who you really are— a lying, cheating, downright no-good criminal, reinstated bounty hunter, professional hired-gun-for-hire."
Narniff awkwardly panicked. "But I no longer work for The Wildsmoke Empire. I am revolting against them. What you are saying is lies."
"Tell that to your father," said Keshin. "He's not dead. I brought him back, consulting that dark-magic friend— also back from the grave— Yermane— for help. Your father's a walking zombie, and a conduit for a demonic entity known as a 'Swarm—' you had better go visit him, because Swarms are contagious."
Narniff said, "My father is long gone, but his tragic legacy of murder and destruction remains engraved in the minds of many. Although I am a bounty hunter, I despised him, and taking his life was only justice for the millions he took by his hands. He is in the ground, resting with the demonic entitites you speak of. Should he rise, I'll put him down forever—"
Keshin stowed his rifle. "I'll give you the benefit-of-the-doubt and say you thought murdering a murderer isn't sin. I'll leave you alone, and I'll take my parades of elephants and hunters, dancers and boars, people and sinners, and desert this like I did the Zadaran Junkhole— and I'll pay my debt and repay what I've been blessed— and I'll leave you alone otherwise— but be warned— this town isn't big enough for two murderers. I'll leave you to think about that."