Et tu, Brute? Ⅳ

While the battle rages within the halls of Gringotts from all over the isles, the Goblin Clan Heads, Elders, Council Members, and others hurriedly floo to hold an emergency assembly. They arrive in a great stone hall filled with countless stone benches. At the forefront of the circular chamber are 12 council chairs, six residing on either side of a great, silver goblin-forged throne peppered by countless glittering diamond gems.

To the horror of the goblins arriving sitting in the council chairs are members of the Brotherhood of Goblins chiefly among them, Bodrig. The throne of the Goblin King is sat in by Ranlaff, the second son of Grok Gringotts, who desperately thirsted for the throne. He had done all that he could to prove his worth to his father, but his father found him nor his brothers worthy of the throne.

Standing nearby with a large group of armed goblins is a large burly goblin, Ranok, the pigeon-toed proudly says, "Ye stand before your king, bow before the new King of the Goblin Nation, Ranlaff, the First, the first true ruler since Radnok the First!"

The goblin elders and clan leaders stare at each other as whispered voices erupt at the shocking announcement. "What have ye done, Ranlaff?" Rasped a VERY elderly Goblin with dropping ears named Kostilb, (who was even older than Wulm).

"I have done what my father dared not do," Ranlaff proudly answered. "We will rise and at last take our proper place in history. We shall rule over the witches and wizards, and they shall serve us as is our due as our slaves."

"Slavery is banned among us," the same elderly goblin, Kostilb spat on the ground. "You shame our history."

"SILENCE!" Ranlaff screamed. "I am your KING!"

"Please calm yourself, your excellency," Bodrig smoothed over the new Goblin King. The suave goblin with a neatly pointed beard triumphantly stared down at the goblin masses. "We the Brotherhood of the Goblins have fought for our people since we came under the rule of the wizards and witches. Long have we been oppressed under their wand tyranny! We are humbled that our King shares our vision and to free us from our oppressors."

Bodrig paused with a caring expression as he stretched his hand to the masses as if pleading with them. "Please my fellow kinsmen join us in making a better and safer world for our children. Together there is nothing that we cannot do!"

Some of the goblins are tempted by the words of Bodrig, while others are somewhat swayed by the passionate words spoken by Bodrig. A loud snort breaks the silence as the eldest goblin council member steps forward. A master crafter in her own right, Wulm carried great weight in their community.

"You speak of such things Bodrig though you are not a traitor," Wulm sneered.

"I am not the one who betrayed our people first," Bodrig self-righteously defended himself, "by permitting us to be intertwined in this meaningless war!"

"Hear, hear," chorused the other members of the Brotherhood of Goblins seated behind him as other goblins in the crowd echoed the sentiment.

"Yet it was you who sought out the Death Eaters first," Wulm accused him as she pointed her gnarled hand at him. "It was you, who sold out my poor nephew, Urlort. Do you dare deny it upon thy goblin magic?"

A hush falls upon those gathered in the chamber as any vow made with goblin magic is binding. A vow forged in goblin magic is not to be taken lightly. There were deadly repercussions if a vow was ever broken.

Bodrig presses his lips tightly together, before kindly saying, "We all know that abrupt passing of your great-great-great nephew, Urlort wounded you greatly Wulm. I would even hazard to suggest that perchance you need solitary time to yourself in order to properly grieve and recover from the tragic loss."

A sharp cackle escapes from Wulm causing the tip of her very pointed ears to move. A cold sharp grin spreads across her face causing the hair on the back of the neck of those watching to stand up. "Mad, am I? Then let me show you mad."

Reaching into the folds of her robes, Wulm emerges with a small box and lets the contents fall open. A small dot falls out that then grows visibly larger at a rapid pace to resemble a large cannon goblin sized. "I admit I took a page out of the muggle history books that I was so kindly permitted to borrow from our resident muggle borns, squibs, and muquibs," she cheekily said.

"I present to you, the GALLEON CANNON!" Wulm proudly announced with a great flourish.

Unlike a muggle cannon, there is no need for black power rather Wulm reaches into her pocket for galleons, sickles, and knuts. She carefully one by one inserts a wizard coin into the coin slot on the side of the barrel of the cannon. The only sound that is heard echoing in the chamber is the sound of coins clinking together.

Seeing that nothing is happening the tension in the air dies. "What is this?" King Ranlaff scorned with a dismissal gesture. "It looks like a hideous black pipe. This is not at all in lieu of what a master craftsman is capable of. In lieu of your failure Master Craftsman Wulm, I revoke your title as-."

A loud blast shakes the entire chamber as galleons, sickles, and knuts are hurled from the mouth of the cannon as deadly flying projectiles. Shrieks of pain are heard as the coin traverse through flesh and become embedded into the floor, wall, and just about anywhere. Suddenly, the Brotherhood of Goblins finds themselves desperately trying to take cover lest they are killed.

"Once charged up, the cannon can shoot up to three times in a row," Wulm cheekily cackled firing again at the scrambling Brotherhood of Goblins and King Ranlaff.

"It's a real money guzzler," Wulm somewhat wistfully muttered to herself at seeing money fly through the air for the third time and become a lethal weapon. It was the greatest weapon a goblin could utilize considering their love of money…

The falling coin sound musically as Wulm once again begins to insert the wizard coin into the coin slot. Moans of pain and a metallic scent fill the air as coins continue to twinkle around them. Dozens of members of the Brotherhood of Goblins are gravely wounded while others are moderate to lightly wounded.

The goblins surrounding the elderly goblin council member tactfully take a step away from Wulm. The power and might of the Galleon Cannon were simply impossible to explain. And yet, it had not only effectively shredded through the ranks of the Brotherhood of Goblins but rendered them entirely useless. The dangerous mutiny had all but been quelled. (And that they all made a personal note not to get on her bad side).

The Goblin Elders, Clan Heads, Council Members, and others with much more interest study the thick black iron tube. "Can it fire anything else?" Asked an inquisitive goblin named Claang.

"I tried but it is not as cost-effective nor is it as speedily recharged," Wulm cheerfully answered.

Clanng thoughtfully nods his head, before asking, "But the cannon spews money…Isn't that very ungoblin-like?"

Wulm scowls at the inquisitive goblin and pointedly turns away. The stone chamber before here is broken and splintered. There lay bleeding broken bodies of the former members of the Brotherhood. Not many would survive the night if aid was rendered.

Disheveled with clothes torn and bloody, Bodrig pushes himself onto his knees and sees the havoc that has been wrought. His men are all wounded including the foolish foppish self-crowned King Ranlan. "You took away my victory," Bodrig roared in fury pulling himself to his swaying feet.

"You took my nephew," Wulm mercilessly retorted before firing the cannon without any trace of hesitation.

Bodrig's body shook like a leaf bombarded by countless deadly coins. His torn body crumbles to the ground and gasps seeing the broken throne at his side. He had fought so much and all for what? His dark eyes grow still, and he is gone.

Wulm fires all three rounds of the cannon ensuring that every single member of the mutiny is dead or near dead. The sounds of coins ringing fill the air until they slow down to a trickle. "Councilmember Wulm," a goblin hesitantly said, "was that not a show of excessive force?"

"Munity needs to be stifled in its infancy," Wulm answered without a trace of remorse. "Every single last one of them."

None of the other goblins have anything else to say. What could be said now, the deed was already done and over with. Instead, they begin to move to gather the cooling bodies of the dead. The bodies of traitors are not permitted to be buried in the mountains of their fathers. Instead, they would be burned in a mass pyre. And despite their treachery, their families would need to be informed of the treacherous actions of their blood kin. They were fathers, brothers, and sons to someone. Tragically, it is their families who would have to live with the brunt of what their kin had wrought.