So here’s part of the scene that I wound up writing to solve the aforementioned villain problem. I think it’s more interesting than chopping someone apart with a machete:
Making the threat had given him back vitality that had ebbed with the long day. He took a bite of goat meat. He traced a pattern on the table with his fingers, then called a rat.
One came. A thin old rat with patches of fur missing and and one ear gone. He directed it onto a table in the center of the room. It sat on its haunches with its tiny pink paws folded together and chirped until everyone in the room was looking at it.
Then Avros made it chase its tail.
Round and round it circled, round and round. The room fell silent. The scratch of the rat’s claws and the whisk of its tail against the wood were loud. No one moved. Avros did not need to watch the rat to control it, and he saw the glances from the rat to him and back, furtive glances, frightened glances. Even if the people in the room did not know he controlled it, they suspected it, some deeper down than others.
Round and round. He drank his beer. A rat could run a long time without dying.
