Backstage, it was pandemonium. Well, it always was, but tonight in particular had brought a particular type of chaos to the Juri Revue. The dull thud of blunt iron pegs on wood caused the numerous slaves, performers, caterers, prostitutes and gladiators to scramble out of the way, doing their best to look busy and make room for the Ringleader. “Zug!” Spat the scratchy, shrill voice of the diminutive tyrant. “Where the hell are my baritones? Curtain call is on us you nitwit! Scuol, why the Krokt are you out of costume?” The Ringleader rounded on his rusty peg-legs and seized a scampering goblin by the ear, hoisting the protesting creature up and shouting in its ear. “One more slip up you rat, and it's Bloodfray duty for you!” Tossing the sniveling imp aside, he trudged down the hall, the black and red tails of his costume dragging on the floor behind him. Standing only four foot six, The Ringleader had a fury that nearly matched that of the cult's demonic guild master, Rakdos, the ill-humored behemoth that slumbered deep in the lava pits below Ravnica, demanding unending games and circuses for his amusement, lest he awaken and devastate the city above. The Ringleader removed his cap, the bells jingling from the motion, and wiped sweat from his brow. With the condition the Revue was in tonight, he'd almost prefer to let his Parun wipe them out. “And where in the Riot Lord's name,” he shouted at all left paralyzed in the hall, “is Szukalski?”

A collective tremor went through the cultists, none wishing to become the target of the dwarfish amputee's ire. The silence dragged on, The Ringleader tapping his pegs against the floor expectantly. An acrobat, decked head to toe in chains and hooks, broke the quietude, his meek voice causing all to turn towards him. “N-n-nobody's seen him all day. Sir. No c-c-clue where he's at.” The acrobat swallowed, fiddling with the links of his chains, not daring to meet The Ringleader's gaze as he approached, tottering on the metal pegs that protruded from his knees.

“Are you telling me,” The Ringleader hissed, “that my headliner's pulled a vanishing act, on the night of our biggest performance in months?” He placed his calloused hands on his hips, glaring up at the acrobat with more malice than it should be possible to fit in such a small man.

“Y-y-yes. Sir. That is w-w-what I'm telling you. Sir.”

“Krokt! That bastard will pay for this. Next time that any of you see that son of a whore, if he dares show his face in the Undercity, I want you to flay the bastard alive. 100 zinos to the man that brings me Szukalski's head.  Let every killer, cutter, strongman, swordsman, poisoner, necromancer and thug in the guild know! And bring me Yetinsyny!”