Just like his carapace arms were just there whenever Woe wished to call upon them, the Webspinner had discovered other abilities in his time. Among these, one that he’d come to prize in his work as a torturer. While some perverse individuals actually enjoyed the lash of a whip or a bit of light mutilation, Woe had discovered that most people didn’t take kindly to being tortured. They didn’t take any kindlier toward those who perpetrated acts of torture. So it was, that Woe found his ability to make people, forget, individual bits of information. If he concentrated hard enough, he could even cause some people to forget about him entirely, although this supposedly came with the added negative of Woe’s forgetting the person he’d forced to ignore him.
So it was, he used it at need. His need just happened to be great, of recent trials. And so the ability found to use against all manner of folk, whether they be accomplices, victims, or allies. If he found it no longer useful to be remembered by such a person, he could permanently erase his memories of that one, as well as their memories of him. He only needed to meet them face to face.
It was with a heavy heart that Woe remove Fleaface from his service. While it might’ve been easier to murder the poor hapless man, leaving bodies in one’s wake, more than was necessary, was asking for trouble. Especially given Woe’s lack of skill for hiding said bodies. A professional would have done the job alright, but every fraying end left another to be discovered. It didn’t matter how dearly an assassin held his reputation for discretion. Woe knew well enough that such silence could be explored and violated by all manner of methods, not limited to marks and magic.
He’d called for Fleaface from his office, which stood just over the trap door leading into his dungeon. Fleaface appeared swiftly at his door and doffed his cap with a dirty grin, “Mornin’ Master. Whatcher want?”
Woe smiled thinly at him, giving him one look and then rising from his chair. “I was wondering if you were up for going to the Hookah Den. My nerves are in the dustbin of late, and I need to take the edge off.”
If it were possible, the pug-faced Fleaface grinned more full than before, “Yer payin’?”
Woe rolled his eyes. Did Fleaface really need to ask?
A break later, they entered the vapor filled room, and Woe led Fleaface toward a nearby hookah. Woe winced at the cloying aroma of the opiate vapors, and even more suspect at the pipe through which customers were expected to inhale. He pretended to take the vapor, and of course, some of it entered his mouth as it wafted. But he did not inhale.
A moment later, Fleaface joined him, a bushel of fragrant herbs in his hand. These, he placed within the hookah’s chamber. It freshened up the smell of the opium considerably or at least mitigated the cloying scent of the tar. Fleaface took a few puffs, then blew circles at Woe’s face, quite rudely.
Woe almost felt terrible about what he was going to do. He needed to talk to Fleaface, to make sure this was really what he wanted. To make sure that he wasn’t just casting Fleaface to the wolves. Hopefully, ignorance would save Fleaface from any association to Woe, when the Webspinner left Etzos. Yet he had to make a clean break. It was the only way to ensure his relative anonymity and that of his activities. Fleaface had proven discrete so far, but he couldn’t count on him when he abandoned him and left Etzos. The least Woe could do is slip him a purse to cover his living for a while, until he found his feet.
