Disguised as Salazar "Sal" Worthington:

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Sal was walking through towards the Dawncliff Mines, full of piss and vinegar. Another joyous day in Fiore in which he could walk about with his massive frame and vengeful fists seeking to crush any challengers; after all, Sal was a good man, but he was also a firm man. One shouldn't let his friendly, beautiful face fool them, for Salazar Worthington is the kind of man that would just as quickly perform coitus with a platypus as he would donate to an orphanage. In that way, Sal was the most accurate and perfect symbol of humanity as a whole, being a man possessed of both lust and generosity in equal helpings.

Now Sal, being the kind soul he is, and deciding to spread a bit of Christmas cheer, decided to help out an old employer from Rush Valley. The employer was fearful for some reason, but that was okay, he was just horrified of Sal's indomitable and eternal soul and desire for peace and love. The rotund man was wearing a jolly Santa outfit, adorned on top with a bright red hat to cover his balding head. He laughed from the belly as he wandered through the mountains of the north towards the Dawncliff Mountains, and though his intentions were pure and good, the judgmental folks of Fiore simply could not understand him. It truly was a shame. This bear of a man was simply trying to spread good faith and holiday cheer, and was demonized for it. So what if he ate a few people now and then? Boiled their corpses in stews, or chopped them finely as ground meat for a nice pasta, or his favorite: human tacos? What was so horrid about such things? He was simply living life, “vibing”, as the youth called it, and these people would dare question him? Outrageous.

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WC: 307/2,500

Sal would start to walk into the mine, taking note of how little there was in the way of ornaments. Rather than fret, he sighed with relief, knowing that at least these folks took their jobs seriously and didn't endanger themselves with tacky decorations; something like that needed to be left to him, for indeed, he had brought the cheer all by himself. Soon he would come to an open area where mining equipment lay everywhere and a few workers were taking a break, snacking on sandwiches. Sal almost projectile vomited upon seeing such filthy craftsmanship on those sandwiches, but knew better after a second. They were, after all, peasants. They couldn't be expected to be men of culture that knew the way of human flesh, but soon they would. Yes, soon they would.

The giant Santa-looking blob of a man would make his way over to the workers on their lunch break, and plop his ass down right next to them. Immediately they knew something was wrong, and looked among each other as they plugged their noses. Sal looked around, wondering if somebody had let loose a deadly fart, until he realized that they were all looking towards him. He pointed at himself for final confirmation, flustered, and mouthed, “Me?” with wide and bulging eyes. When the workers nodded to confirm his suspicions, Sal only sighed. Of course they had smelled something off of him, for he had only just earlier done his daily butchering to prepare some good meat for dinner later tonight. After all, old men had expiry dates on them, and so the meat of that old folks' home patient had to be chopped up and prepared hastily.

Sal licked his lips upon realizing that he had been discovered to be a rather gross individual at times. His slob nature was something that would inevitably be called out, but that would only arouse his interest further. He did so often wonder why people were disgusted by his smell. Was the smell of bloody human flesh really such a horrific thing? Was it not appetizing to ingest the meat of another? That was what the true Christmas spirit was about, after all. Rather than proclaim to be some kind of savior, he offered a simple truth: human meat, when properly cared for and seasoned, was as delicious as the finest of turkey or ham meat. Savory, moist and dripping with potential.

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WC: 711/2,500

“Mmm-mmm-mmm~!”, Sal would hum to himself, for he was no bah humbug or sour scrooge in the face of a good time.

In the meanwhile, the workers around him were weirded out, unnerved, and annoyed. Eventually one would spit at the floor next to Sal and rudely proclaim, “Get outta here, you freak. We're trying to eat so we can get back to work.”

Ah, right, work. Sal wasn't just here for festive cheer. His employer still needed to know of ideal places to mine out in Dawncliff. It wasn't just pleasure, it was also business, in the end. Sal was reminded of this, and as thanks to the worker who had given the rude gesture that served to remind him, he knelt down and licked the man's spit off the rocky ground before standing up. This act alone sent shivers down the spines of the workers, who hurled cusses around to cope with the disgusting action. When Sal stood up, he smiled at the worker who had tossed his saliva around moments prior. Mr. Worthington's smile was wide, bright and sunny, and much like the kind of smile one would see Santa himself wear when delivering presents to all the good little boys and girls.

“Why thank you, sir, for your most holy of gifts. A man's spit is nothing if not... mentally arousing, ho ho ho~!”, Sal would cheer and begin to walk closer to the worker finishing his sandwich, who in turn started backing up until he was up against the cave wall.

The man's friends on either side of him did nothing to stop it, paralyzed with fear. Sal would kneel down to meet the spitter eye to eye, before digging into his giant sack on his back, fetching for something deep within. After a moment with a perplexed expression, sweat trickling down his forehead and neck from the strenuous effort of it all, he reached what he was looking for inside. His troubled grimace turned into a bright smile once again, and he retrieved the thing in the sack to put into the spitting worker's hands forcibly.

“There you go, my friend! Merry, merry Christmas, and the happiest of New Years! It can't get worse than this year, after all, only better!”, Sal would say with pride as he dropped a human arm, cut off at the part where the elbow would begin, and hand it off to the spitting worker who was spitting no more.

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WC: 1,122/2,500

Rather than spitting, the man was screaming. The arm was still bleeding and fresh, so crimson life would drip from the limb and onto the man and covering his hands in red. He'd throw the arm to the ground and begin to run away, screaming for help in desperation. Sal almost had a feeling this would happen, and knew deep in his gut that if not for his own kindness he'd already have killed the poor bastard. He gave the man one, just ONE chance to prove that he was different. But like all others, a bloodied and dismembered arm would send this man into a feral, pants-shitting frenzy to escape. “Another typical one, is it?”, Sal muttered, losing his Santa-like charm for a moment with the glare of an executioner across him.

The man would run away, but not in time. As he was about to turn a corner to leave the mine, he felt himself being pulled back from behind. His friends would watch as Sal quickly wrapped his sausage fingers around the fleeing worker's throat and lift him up off his feet from behind. The worker would dig his nails into Sal's fleshy flaps, enough to leave marks and draw blood, but it was no use; Mr. Worthington had suffered much worse pain in the past, so this was nothing. He didn't even feel it, as it felt more like lightly poking someone with a small twig.

After another moment of pointless struggling, it all came to an end. Sal took the man around the corner where the others couldn't see, and the sound of metallic instruments and tools being opened up could be heard. All that could be seen from around the corner was Sal's robust shadow leaning over against a pile and beginning to cut away at it. The pile made no movements or noises, and at this point was simply more stock for the jolly fat man to use for later. He got to work surgically dismantling the pile until it could all fit neatly in his sack after cramming various bits and pieces inside.

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WC: 1,473/2,500

Afterwards, Sal came around the corner and saw the other two workers frozen. One seemed on the verge of a heart attack, which Sal found just sad – this was the circle of life, after all, and nothing could survive without such practices being enforced and encouraged. Though rather than be encouraged, the workers would suppress their fear and stand to attention as the bloody Santa returned closer to them. They picked up their pickaxes, wielding them like clubs, and charged towards Mr. Salazar with anger and fear in an equal mixture. “Mmm, cocktails...”, Sal would mutter to himself, his tummy rumbling with hunger as he advanced towards them as well, rather than backing away.

Sal would swat their pickaxes away like used trash, and grab each of them by the necks and lift. “Mmm... like putty in my hands, aren't you, boys? You'll both be VERY tasty indeed with how... fragile the meat is.”, Sal remarked, giving the two their final seconds to process what has transpired, before chokeslamming them into the rocky cave floor.

A generous soul, Sal would allow the brains to rattle around in their skulls while he went over and retrieved their trashy pickaxes. Leaning over them with a pickaxe in each hand, his smile grew wide enough that it almost seemed as if his cheeks would crack open. “Well then, let's get to it, shall we? Nice of you boys to already have the meat tenderizers handy for me, oho~!”, Salazar exclaimed with glee, spinning the pickaxes around in his hands before descending upon the two helpless and injured miners with the movements and precision of a vengeful god.

There would be no screams, of course. Sal wasn't a savage, he at least let them die quickly since they were kind enough to allow themselves to be his food so readily. Who ever called him a villain, anyway? Mr. Worthington truly was an untarnished soul on this holy of Christmas nights. Was it even still Christmas, though? If anything, Christmas had passed a few days ago, and yet Sal had no concept of time, so to him it was still the night of the greatest of holidays. These miners would not have happy families for the holiday, but Sal sure would be quite content.

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WC: 1,853/2,500

After a few hours of repeating this with others throughout the mines, taking note of the various outcrops and large deposits of rare minerals as he went, he knew he was ideal for this job. There really was nobody else like him for it. A god among men, almost, but not quite; to claim such would be heresy and an insult to HER eternail reign, and Tomoe would certainly end Sal's life for such arrogance if he ever said it aloud. Even keeping it to himself, though, he felt a chill down his spine as if the mad cultist had already known of the very thought.

“Meeeeeeerry Christmaaaaaas~! Ho ho ho!”, Sal would proudly declare as he began his walk back out of Dawncliff Mine, to nobody in particular.

Why nobody? Because as of this night, there were none left alive within Dawncliff Mine. Sal saw to it that each and every one of the workers would receive a present and free food, but they all denied him. They all rejected his message. They, one and all, saw his generosity and deemed it villainy. And so, he would take care to enlighten them each slowly about what villainy really was as hours passed. These mines could definitely be considered cursed at this point, with how often their workers died. Why the hell did they even still hire people, at this point? Sal wondered these things, despising the ingrates that desecrated his sacred traditions and turned their noses up at his cooking and handiwork.

Regardless, his employer would be happy to see him, anyway. As he turned in the quest, Sal noticed that the employer was all smiles, all the time. Not a trace of the fear or panic or increased heart rate from their first meeting, which was impressive. He had warmed up to Sal so quickly! Truly, Mr. Worthington was a generous man and so charismatic and handsome, that it only took a few meetings to become best pals with his employer in Rush Valley.

“Please do call on me again, dear employer.”, Sal would state with a bow before leaving, his reports on rare deposits and ore veins within Dawncliff Mine satisfying the employer.

Afterwards, he would make his way down to a nice restaurant. He was in need of good food, after all, and hadn't yet sampled the local delicacies. He would remedy that by visiting a place that served classic Fiorian dishes. On such a night, turkey was overrated anyway. He'd get himself some nice pasta, or else he'd give them death if they refused. Either way, it would be another warm night for Sal, happy that he'd done his part for his dear employer and happy to have gotten more materials for his recipes. Soon he would host a grand banquet with all he'd accumulated, and he couldn't wait to invite all his best friends and former lovers to join him in unity.

“All in a day's work for the great Salazar!”, Sal would muse to nobody and nothing, patting himself on the back for his efforts.

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WC: 2,365/2,500

That night was a grand feast. Sal had retrieved many body parts from the miners, and as a result he was fully in the mindset of Christmas cheer. Cooking in the kitchens of some random bar in Rush Valley, he took his employer out for a good time. After forcing the bartender with rather convincing persuasive efforts, it was pretty simple to just cook something up for his boss and all the other locals. They waited with bated breath, unsure what would come next. To Sal they were eager and hungry mouths that needed feeding for the holidays, but in truth they were terrified. Terrified of the goop leaking out of the man's sack, and of just how often he would dig into it to retrieve some kind of ingredient or another.

After all, the food would spoil if not cooked soon. He wouldn't allow the sacrifices of those miners from Dawncliff to go to waste. No, no, he would honor their legacies by feeding them to others. It would be most interesting if someone here was related to the meal they were about to eat, but Sal wouldn't bank on it; the probability was too low, after all.

When the ding of an oven signaled that the meat was finally ready after Mr. Worthington had been slaving over it for ages, a gleeful smile crossed the rotund man's features. It was time. There would be nobody leaving this place, not until every single one among them was stuffed full. He'd bought some seasonings using the money from his employer, after all! He needed to make a good first impression...

"Alright, children, it's time to eat! Dig in and don't hold back, I made a whooooole lot~!", Sal would declare with pride as he retrieved the tray from the oven, turning towards his eager guests with Christmas cheer.

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

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WC: 2,500/2,500

- EXIT -