It had been nearly four years since the Captain had crossed paths with Doctor Skaar and now he knew why. Baku had explained that the Doctor and several minions had come to steal a great treasure from the Anansesem and while his hirelings were cut down in short order, the Doctor had been captured and imprisoned here. If he had not ended up joining the Doctor in his imprisonment amongst the spider people, the Captain would have been pleased by Skaar’s fate.
Former comrades in adventure, the Doctor’s penchant for sinking knives into well-turned backs eventually turned the two down the path to adversity. One might call their parting of ways anything but, since it seemed the two always managed to find one another again. Whether in some gambit to collect the same mythical fortune or attending the same expensive soirée or even visiting Hong Kong to purchase tiger blood, the two could not seem to properly diverge their fates. Ultimately this created a direct and distinct manner of competition with one another.
Rivals, you could call them. Two sides of the same coin, you might say. Two rivers incessantly flowing and converging in the same valley as they rushed headlong toward the sea, the Doctor and the Captain seemed irrevocably fated to struggle against one another until one, the other, or both met their ends.
“Someone spin me around,” Captain Vaguely growled, “so I can spit on the bastard.”
Two Anansesem entered the chamber, disturbing the Captain’s introspective frothing. Looking to them, along with Ghost-Tongue, he could see they were toting a stone cauldron between them. Heaving the thing up without so much as a grunt, it came down on the table with a grating crunch as some steaming grayish liquid spilled over the edges and spattered on the table. The two massive creatures immediately produced a sort of straight-handled ladle and two conical bowls made from some sort of gourd. They scooped from the cauldron and filled the strange bowls and began to approach the prisoners.
Thinking back to the lesson in arachnid dietetics he had given Ghost-Tongue, and the story of Skaar’s fallen minions, the Captain’s eyes widened and bulged behind the lenses of his goggles.
“Bah!” he barked. “Keep that away from me, you beasts! I know what you’re up to! Trying to dehumanize us! To make us a party to your devilry! But you’ve gone too far and you’ve underestimated my observational prowess! I’m on to you!”
The tall spider men held the bowls up to the mouths of their prisoners and tilted them ever so slightly. While Ghost-Tongue seemed to relent and accept his dietary destiny, the Captain struggled, sputtered, and clamped his lips shut. His Anansesem captor prodded, angled, and even jabbed with the lip of the bowl but to no avail. The Captain would not receive his meal.
Finally the bowl was taken away and Tripp sputtered, “Damn you! I will not dine on the half-digested remains of Skaar's peons or whomever else you lot have injected with your vile secretions and turned into so much liquefied buffoon! Jobi! What are you doing? Gadzooks, man! You've lost- No! You’ve rather regained your savage mind! You've turned cannibal!”
Ghost-Tongue gulped down a mouthful, licked his lips and replied, “Sir…”
“Yes? What is it, old friend? Do you have regrets? Do you seek penance? Oh lampooning lords of the hoary netherworlds, forgive this pitiful primitive! Blame his blood and not his soul! I, Captain Tripp Vaguely, owner, chairman and CEO of Vague Enterprises, Victor of the Battle of Bjarmaland, and Horseshoe Champion of Avalon, can vouch for the wholesomeness of his spirit!”