Alkalin3
Knight
“Will there be anything more, master?” the servant asks, fidgeting ever so slightly for fear of the wrath he may have invoked. Benance Dulounge scoffs, glancing less than subtly at the broken glass and wine now running free along the floor of his study.
“Yes. Clean that mess, and attend to our guests. Have a drink if you need to stop the shaking; I’ll not have your nerves show tonight. If the tapestry behind you has but one speck of red on it, or if the rug stains, my indulgence at your expense may go without bounds.” And he meant it, for there are few things Benance enjoys more than the suffering of those who disappoint him. He downs the remainder of his drink and rises toward the door.
“Of course, master...” the servant trails off, not sure how to word his question.
“Speak! Now, before I soil my evening wear with your blood.”
“Well... it’s just... Lord Cyrus, you don’t suppose--” Snorting, the Master of Indulgence turns to meet the attendant’s gaze, running a hand down his face to wipe away his disgust.
“Relax Albert,” softer tones creep into his voice, allowing for a brilliant crescendo as he presses onward toward the study’s exit. “The Master of Opulence would have killed you himself had you so offended him. With most of his towers fallen he will be hard pressed to cross into the physical realm come the next market day. Cyrus has never been one to rely on a single defense, even if it is a wendigo. At best, he may purchase you from me; your clumsy antics, though they cost me a fine bottle, clearly inspired him, and none too late based on his hurried exit. You heard him as he left, same as I: ‘The bottle breaks, the shards are strewn, and thus the contents run free.’ Though if you wish to last long enough for him to make the offer, I suggest you clean that wine!” The door slams. Candles gutter out. In the dark, slight sobs echo over the clinking collection of glass.
“Yes. Clean that mess, and attend to our guests. Have a drink if you need to stop the shaking; I’ll not have your nerves show tonight. If the tapestry behind you has but one speck of red on it, or if the rug stains, my indulgence at your expense may go without bounds.” And he meant it, for there are few things Benance enjoys more than the suffering of those who disappoint him. He downs the remainder of his drink and rises toward the door.
“Of course, master...” the servant trails off, not sure how to word his question.
“Speak! Now, before I soil my evening wear with your blood.”
“Well... it’s just... Lord Cyrus, you don’t suppose--” Snorting, the Master of Indulgence turns to meet the attendant’s gaze, running a hand down his face to wipe away his disgust.
“Relax Albert,” softer tones creep into his voice, allowing for a brilliant crescendo as he presses onward toward the study’s exit. “The Master of Opulence would have killed you himself had you so offended him. With most of his towers fallen he will be hard pressed to cross into the physical realm come the next market day. Cyrus has never been one to rely on a single defense, even if it is a wendigo. At best, he may purchase you from me; your clumsy antics, though they cost me a fine bottle, clearly inspired him, and none too late based on his hurried exit. You heard him as he left, same as I: ‘The bottle breaks, the shards are strewn, and thus the contents run free.’ Though if you wish to last long enough for him to make the offer, I suggest you clean that wine!” The door slams. Candles gutter out. In the dark, slight sobs echo over the clinking collection of glass.