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Lord Vagabond by Fanny
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Author's Notes:
Recognisable? Not mine.
— Where d’you think you’re going?! Don’t you dare! I comma…

They ran anyway and did not care in the slightest to listen to whatever he was “comma”-ing. Three bandits that were clearly a family (big, bigger, the biggest), a tall guy sporting a knuckle-duster, a non-Middle-Eastern slit-eye, and the others, they were all running, the lot of them. Forty in total, and the fastest one happened to be their so-called king. Ha! Some king, riiight. Wanted to get a bit of dough to commission a portrait by what’s-his-name, very popular and creative, yet chickened out.

— Keep it! All of it, but for the deposit! — cried the leader of forty criminals valiantly and was gone in the proverbial flash, heading for the dunes. His henchmen followed suit, the bastards.

Mozenrath, the lord of Black Sands, necromancer and so on would have laughed at those miserable fools, but he had been past laughter: brazen cutthroats that did not fear any sultan’s army or anyone of lighter weight ran off and didn’t collar Thirdack. And they weren’t the first ones ever to do just that… And he, the lord of this, for a Gomorrah minute, land forgot when was the last time he slept in his good old necromantic bed or ate from his nice sorcerish dish, his beloved veiny lamps casting their light upon him.

— No go home?

— And what d’you think, Xerxes?!

The flying eel very much felt that his oxygen supply was cut off. Then he was set free, and the oxygen came back. And then he was given a pat, and a sad, but firm voice of the lord of Black Sands specified that they were going “to look for someone else tomorrow”.

— It’s enough for today, Xerxes. Which of my living and breathing subjects haven’t played host to their lord and master yet?

Xerxes didn’t have to be asked twice.

— The old Fatima who has ten granddaughters, master.

The lord of Black Sands wrapped up in his cloak showing off a maximum of dignity possible.

— Excellent. To Fatima’s! And tomorrow… — the master’s hand patted the eel’s head again, gently. — I think, Xerxes, we should look for a hero for hire at the neighbours’, starting with Agrabah. I’ve heard they got one.

And the rest, dear reader, is history.