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Description

Having finished their bloodletting session for the night, Duke Hyden brings Lord Ambroys back upstairs from his dark wizard torture dungeon... err, magic laboratory, where he promptly collapses on the floor from massive blood loss.

This has happened before, of course. Hyden rolls his eyes and brings the fallen Ambroys a pillow. The disoriented lord tries to get up but Hyden insists that he stay for a while until he's recovered his strength. It wouldn't do for him to go out into the cold by himself in this condition. He'd likely stumble and fall and crack that golden head of his open on the cobblestone steps, and that would be quite inconvenient for everybody. Too weakened to argue, Ambroys relents.

Hyden is pleased to have a guest, though. It doesn't seem to bother him that this particular one is not here of his own free will. He brings Ambroys a charcuterie board he'd had the servants prepare before sending them home for the night and places it on the floor next to him while complaining about his back pain and apologizing for the lack of proper guest dinnerware . Ambroys says nothing and doesn't move. Hyden helpfully reminds him that he'll feel better with some food in his stomach. Ambroys stares at the vaulted ceiling in silence.

Exhausted and aching from all the hard work he's done bleeding Ambroys out, Hyden is ready to relax. He settles heavily onto the couch and takes out a slender porcelain pipe, a glass lamp, and a small wooden box. It's been several hours since he's last indulged and he's feeling itchy. He snaps his fingers over the lamp, lighting it with a crackle of magic, and picks a particularly pungent ball of dark brown resin out of the box. As he reclines on the couch and prepares to smoke, he catches sight of Ambroys on the floor.

"Would you like some? It'll help with the pain. Very potent stuff, you know. The absolute finest quality."

Ambroys slowly turns his head to Hyden, gazing blearily at the ornate porcelain pipe being offered to him by thick, clawed hands. The very same hands that had been bleeding him out only minutes ago. He weakly shakes his head--no.

Hyden shrugs. More for him, then. He gets comfortable on the couch and heats up his pipe, eager for his fix.

As he happily nurses away on his poison of choice, Hyden begins to talk, ostensibly to Ambroys but mostly to himself. His dialog is utterly self-indulgent and meandering, lazily recounting petty failures from his servants and perceived slights from other nobles and perplexing details about his research that Ambroys cannot hope to understand or care about. The room fills with the cloying scent of sickly-sweet smoke. At no point does he stop for Ambroys to reply--he knows he isn't going to. But he keeps talking anyway.

As the next hour slowly creeps by, the duke sinks deeper and deeper into his intoxication, his words becoming increasingly slurred and his trains of thought tangled. Eventually, he becomes quiet--fallen asleep, perhaps. Or, if I'm lucky, maybe an overdose this time, thinks Ambroys.

Still shaky, the unicorn hoists himself up into a sitting position, and then, unsteadily, pulls himself to his feet, careful not to dirty his hooves by stepping on the uneaten charcuterie plate. He looks over at the peacefully sleeping Hyden with disgust. That fat fucking bastard. I can't believe I ever trusted him. What have I gotten myself into?

Ambroys quietly makes his way to the entrance hall, pulling on his heaviest coat for the return trip home. His innate fire will provide little warmth in his current state--his dim, pallid halo is evidence enough of that . He pushes the heavy doors open--quietly, as to not wake Hyden--and steps outside into the cold with a shiver. It's a long way home.

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(Ambroys belongs to !)

Description

Having finished their bloodletting session for the night, Duke Hyden brings Lord Ambroys back upstairs from his dark wizard torture dungeon... err, magic laboratory, where he promptly collapses on the floor from massive blood loss.

This has happened before, of course. Hyden rolls his eyes and brings the fallen Ambroys a pillow. The disoriented lord tries to get up but Hyden insists that he stay for a while until he's recovered his strength. It wouldn't do for him to go out into the cold by himself in this condition. He'd likely stumble and fall and crack that golden head of his open on the cobblestone steps, and that would be quite inconvenient for everybody. Too weakened to argue, Ambroys relents.

Hyden is pleased to have a guest, though. It doesn't seem to bother him that this particular one is not here of his own free will. He brings Ambroys a charcuterie board he'd had the servants prepare before sending them home for the night and places it on the floor next to him while complaining about his back pain and apologizing for the lack of proper guest dinnerware . Ambroys says nothing and doesn't move. Hyden helpfully reminds him that he'll feel better with some food in his stomach. Ambroys stares at the vaulted ceiling in silence.

Exhausted and aching from all the hard work he's done bleeding Ambroys out, Hyden is ready to relax. He settles heavily onto the couch and takes out a slender porcelain pipe, a glass lamp, and a small wooden box. It's been several hours since he's last indulged and he's feeling itchy. He snaps his fingers over the lamp, lighting it with a crackle of magic, and picks a particularly pungent ball of dark brown resin out of the box. As he reclines on the couch and prepares to smoke, he catches sight of Ambroys on the floor.

"Would you like some? It'll help with the pain. Very potent stuff, you know. The absolute finest quality."

Ambroys slowly turns his head to Hyden, gazing blearily at the ornate porcelain pipe being offered to him by thick, clawed hands. The very same hands that had been bleeding him out only minutes ago. He weakly shakes his head--no.

Hyden shrugs. More for him, then. He gets comfortable on the couch and heats up his pipe, eager for his fix.

As he happily nurses away on his poison of choice, Hyden begins to talk, ostensibly to Ambroys but mostly to himself. His dialog is utterly self-indulgent and meandering, lazily recounting petty failures from his servants and perceived slights from other nobles and perplexing details about his research that Ambroys cannot hope to understand or care about. The room fills with the cloying scent of sickly-sweet smoke. At no point does he stop for Ambroys to reply--he knows he isn't going to. But he keeps talking anyway.

As the next hour slowly creeps by, the duke sinks deeper and deeper into his intoxication, his words becoming increasingly slurred and his trains of thought tangled. Eventually, he becomes quiet--fallen asleep, perhaps. Or, if I'm lucky, maybe an overdose this time, thinks Ambroys.

Still shaky, the unicorn hoists himself up into a sitting position, and then, unsteadily, pulls himself to his feet, careful not to dirty his hooves by stepping on the uneaten charcuterie plate. He looks over at the peacefully sleeping Hyden with disgust. That fat fucking bastard. I can't believe I ever trusted him. What have I gotten myself into?

Ambroys quietly makes his way to the entrance hall, pulling on his heaviest coat for the return trip home. His innate fire will provide little warmth in his current state--his dim, pallid halo is evidence enough of that . He pushes the heavy doors open--quietly, as to not wake Hyden--and steps outside into the cold with a shiver. It's a long way home.

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(Ambroys belongs to !)