“Mr. Jorgensson! MR. Jorgensson!”
Nicor’s shouts roused the dwarf from his light nap, causing him to bite off the end of the cigar that had been dangling precariously from his slack jaw.
“GODS DAMN IT, BOY!”, roared the editor, slamming a meaty fist on his desk. ‘I TOLD YOU NOT TO DISTURB ME ON A SUL EVENING! It’s the only peace I get from those thrice-damned, useless, hackneyed…’
The dwarf’s growing rant trailed off as the young teifling struggled through the office door with a battered and bloody Carric leaning on his thin frame. The half-elf looked like he had been run over by several stampedes, and could barely stand even with Nicor’s help.
“WHAT IN THE HELLS HAPPENED?!? WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!?”, roared Jorgensson, roughly stabbing the remains of his cigar into a nearby bowl before waving for Nicor to put Carric down on a chair.
“I was coming back from getting tea when a skycab just dumped him on the street outside the office”, panted Nicor, nearly collapsing along with the half-elf. “I didn’t want to leave him out there to come get you.”
“mmmmnnonmmunnnsss”, murmured Carric, his voice garbled by the swelling around his mouth and throat.
“WHAT?! I can’t understand you!”, Jorgensson gestured to the break room. “Go get him some water, or something!”
The boy groaned as he stood, wobbling slightly as he stumbled back with a decanter and a glass. With almost no help from the groggy half-elf, the tiefling somehow managed to get almost a third of the liquid to its intended destination.
Coughing and spitting bloody fluid onto the hardwood floor, Carric managed to croak out a slightly more coherent statement.
“Anonymush. They werse ashking bou anonymush. Sheemed shur it had t’be me. Gaut rough. Not take no fo ansher. Den pow! Nogged me out and dumbed me here.”
The effort appeared to use up the last of the man’s strength and he sagged in the chair, dripping bloody drool from the side of his mouth.
Nicor jumped as Jorgensson’s fist slammed into the office wall.
“Enough of this orcshit! Harassing those idiots Fulton and Lester is one thing! Kidnapping and torturing a real journalist is a whole different grade of ore!”
The dwarf stomped back to his oversized desk and began furiously scribbling notes as Nicor glanced back and forth between his boss and his bloody co-worker.
“What are we going to do, boss?”
“What are we going to do?”, whispered Jorgensson, his voice low and full of menace. “We’re going to show them that they can’t mess with the Free Press! WE’RE GOING TO WAR!”
Unsure about the meaning of Jorgensson’s shout, Nicor sat quietly until the editor looked up again.
“Go find someone from the Jorasco enclave and get Carric out of here before he makes an even bigger mess on my floor!”