Spanning more than 90 years of art from across the globe, this collection of short stories celebrates the fictional character in all its horrors, from the oil monster of FernGully to the demon kings of Blue Exorcist's Gehenna. Beginning with the bla...
WARNING: abduction, strangulation and other deaths, reckless use of firearms, blood, toxic mindset.
A.N. - My favourite robber baron. Have this giant still image of him because there are no gifs.
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The crackling of timber and billowing of flames illuminated the front page of a newspaper in an otherwise dim room, heat rolling out from the fireplace and swirling around you in a warm cloud. Raising a glass of water to your lips, you eased into a rocking chair and reached for the gazette.
"Bilious Fever Claims Family of Three; Mayor to Step Down?"
The death of your neighbours would not make for a pleasant morning read, but it was a welcome distraction from the mound of unopened letters and gifts collecting dust in the corner.
With a quiet sigh and a shake of the head, you had begun to unfold the publication when a strangled shriek erupted from outside your front door.
"Delivery!"
You leapt from the seat and sputtered backwards, nearly descending into a coughing fit as water droplets stained your clothes and tumbled down your throat like rocks. Pounding on the slab of wood began and was accompanied by an exhausted voice beseeching you to open up. Recognizing it as Grind Creek's courier, you hurried to the entrance and flung it aside only for the messenger to topple through your doorway and smack face-first into the floor.
They shoved a rectangular present into your arms and staggered to their feet, aiming to make a beeline for their steed hitched outside the saloon.
"Hey, wait! I told you to return these from now on."
You shot the courier a look of frustration and discomfort and extended the object in their direction to which they waved their hands back and forth frantically and confessed, "Please, just take it! He thinks I've been delivering to the wrong address!"
The first rays of dawn were beginning to peek over the horizon, and a stray beam of sunshine flickered across their weathered figure.
A myriad of bruises and scrapes littered their face as frayed, dirtied pieces of their outfit fluttered in the breeze. They looked as if they had been dragged through a sawmill.
You were on the verge of inquiring about their condition when the messenger whispered, "I think one of his henchmen followed me. I'm sorry, but if I had returned one more of these gifts, I reckon death would have been my dance partner before daybreak."
The initial vexation was replaced by a seed of dread sprouting in your stomach. "Wait, a henchman followed you? In what?"
The courier fixed you with a puzzled stare. "A great big ole wagon."
