V'Orlan Family/V'Orlan Estate/Library/A History of Perdan from 1019/Encounter in the Bloody Stump

A wet splash startled Nemean. Dashing to the side as the yellow liquid drenched the ground he had been walking on not moments ago. He shot an angry look upwards. Only to see shutters being deftly closed. The pungent, reeking odor of piss greeted him with a sickly welcome. One he was quick to abandon as he pressed on through the alley.

Perdan hadn't been kind to the exploring noble. He certainly regretted not bringing at least a bodyguard. The slums of the great city sprawled before him and he was sure he'd been lost at least a dozen times by now. The beggars were legion and some of them only practised the trade as a cover for more sinister deeds. Children in stained clothes and with hands practised at pick-pocketing often gawked at him with big, teary eyes. His somewhat fine clothing in his own mind must've been unrivalled decadence in theirs. The sword on his hip had so far been enough deterrence.

Several hours later, Nemean came upon a seedy looking place. His mind worked, weighing the options. Would he actually enter this place? The roof sagged, the tiles stuck together as a worn crown of clay reds and browns while some of them sported moss or whatever that green stuff was. He shuddered but steeled himself as he pushed the door open. The sign was beyond doubt. A tree stump covered in blood. Like a bleak omen of what he was to encounter inside.

His eyes stung and all he could do was to shut them as he stopped dead in his tracks. A dense current of wood-smoke mingled with the plumes rising from dozens of pipes. It clung to the ceiling and had no escape but to invade the head-space. Nemean coughed as he tried to adjust to it. Peering through slits he wiped away a tear. Raucous laughter emanated from a grand bar decorated with crudely carved statues of bears. They stood on their hind legs and with their paws supported the massive counter. Brass chandeliers supported rings of fat candles stained yellow that in turn cast the room in a flickering orange glow. Slowly pacing deeper into the establishment Nemean felt something speed past his legs. The sound of paws upon the wooden floor told him it must've been a dog but he couldn't quite tell. Someone bumped into him as he approached the bar itself and before he could even challenge the man a heavy hand slapped him on the shoulder and some slurred cheer was shouted into his face. Nemean's face shrivelled into a ball of wrinkly disgust. The smell of cheap ale and whatever the drunk had been snacking on nearly made him retch. Fortunately the drunk lumbered off with a loud laugh.

Finally managing to reach the bar he discovered a pocket of not so rancid air. The bundles of aromatic herbs hanging from the ceiling doing their job. He gulped in air like a fish on land. Softly chuckling a broad armed man moved to face him on the opposite side of the bar. New are you? The impressive arms rested on the counter. Rows of dark hair did a poor job of hiding the layers of muscle. Nemean caught himself staring. There was a tatoo of crossed spears there as well. You going to buy me a drink next? The man intoned. Several patrons seated at the bar chuckled. Nemean looked up and regained some of his demeanor. Big Arm put up his hands. No offence, you seemed pretty far away. The words were delivered with an easy prose that belied years of mediation and social intuition. The forte of any barman worth his salt. It did its magic on Nemean as it had on so many before him and disarmed him.

Are there any.. Nemean glanced back into the crowded, main common room. ..more quiet seats? A nasty yellow grin greeted Nemean from the patron seated right next to where he was standing at the bar. The patron received an admonishing look from the barman. Of course good sir. You might find more peace and quiet in the Pinter Room, its just to the right through that door where the barrels come from. If that isn't quiet enough you might take a table in the Stump room. There's no shows on, it should be quiet in there. The barman indicated the double door next to the bar. It just so happened to open and showed a room with a large central stump. Like, from an immense oak. And the doors shut again.

Nemean nodded towards the double door. I'll take a table in there. Please send in some wine and cheese.

The imperious tone drew eyes. Mostly mocking ones but the Barman played alone as he pocketed the silvers Nemean had placed on the bar. Of course. He said with a jovial tone. It was lost on Nemean though. He simply went into the Stump room and spied out a suitable table. It fascinated him that the room was centered on a huge tree stump podium. Having settled in he took out his writing kit and penned a letter.

---

Dustiria pulled up her horse and more fell than slid off her horse. In her hand a crumpled letter. Her feet barely support her as she patted Belmont, her trusty steed. She handed her reigns to her captain.

"See to him and our new men. " She says weary. She looks up at the Bloody Stump sign as it creaks in the wind. Her hand crushes the letter more, "How dare he..." She muttered.

As Dustiria entered the Bloody Stump through the heavily used, wooden door, she is welcomed by excitement and joyful music. The bartender is engaged in a conversation, but still manages to welcome her with a wink. She nods back with a small smile and looks around. It's as engaging inside as it is on the outside. Hardwood beams support the upper floor with hanging lanterns. The walls are littered with all sorts of memorabilia, though whether they're collected or donated is uncertain...

The tavern itself is packed. Travellers and locals mingle happily here with no care for rank. Most appear to be commoners at first glance. Several long tables are occupied by happy, excited groups of people, some are dancing on the table, while others cheer them on with clapping and yelling. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people who are indulging in homey food and ale that isn't the best but wets your throat nicely, while some do try to strike a conversation, others can barely speak a word while contemplating their existence. Even most of the stools at the bar were occupied, though nobody seems to mind more company. Many greet her as she walks through and goes to her usual small table. One of the servers places an ale before her and leaves.

"How can he not see this?" she shook her head again and began to drink her ale.

---

Alyssa walked through the streets of Perdan City as a light snow fell across the cobbled city streets. There were a few people out and about and they all made way for her and the small company of armed guards escorting her. The clack of their boots against the stony streets echoed off the tightly packed buildings of Perdan's West Quarter. Alyssa's own footsteps were light as she stepped carefully, lifting her modest white dress to just above her ankles to avoid it touching cold wet snow. Around her, a black cloak, somewhat oversized, loaned to her by her elderly squire Graham, and at her hip, the ornate ceremonial Blade of the Imperator hung from a golden sash on her waist.

The place did not smell well and the people looked at her sceptically as she passed. She continued on towards her destination, head held nobly as she passed by them. She knew many of these people were refugees who had little and less, and while they seemed unwashed and shifty, she knew them, and their simple desire for a better life. Children of Perdan, She thought. If only I could lead you back home. Her party continued down the street and into the alley where she spotted the sign, that she supposed was meant to be a stump but looked like a misshapen wooden mass coated in faded red paint. The Bloody Stump, it read as Alyssa looked at it sceptically. She was uncertain of why she would be asked to such a place like this. She doubted any noble lady had ever been near this dank looking tavern. Perhaps this is some sort of joke, she mused. She understood Sir Nemean less and less with every letter he sent. She felt some unease as she stepped into the barroom, as men arm wrestled, drank and laughed with women, musicians playing jaunty tunes. A few patrons glanced at Alyssa and her guards as she walked in, one man looked nervously at the Blade of the Imperator, likely not knowing it was dulled and served mainly as a badge of office. Their eyes shifted from her to a table near the back where Dustiria Noire sat quietly.

As the doors opened she looked up from where she sat with her back to the wall. The crumpled letter the only thing present other than the mug of ale on her table. A relaxed Dustiria, something not often seen, stood and smiled.

"Welcome to the Bloody Stump Imperatrix. My home while I am in Perdan and not with you.

Alyssa met the other woman's eyes, giving a sceptical look. What is going on She thought, now confused and concerned. Quickly she stepped across the room to her sworn sword as many eyes looked nervously at the stiff-looking noblewoman and her armed men.

"My lady..." She said somewhat concerned. "I was to meet Sir Nemean here. I did not expect to find you in this establishment as well."

The patrons resumed talking once they realised Dustiria was not in any sort of trouble. "Have a seat. I must confess when I told you I met Sir Kenneth here I didn't expect you to meet here too..." Dustiria looked like she had blushed, or maybe it was just the poor lighting in the tavern, "It's a good clean place where nobles and commoners can enjoy themselves. I am so thankful Duke Smiddich gave it to me since my men and I enjoy it so much. I am far from Lorient after all and it's a nice place to rest my head. So what brings you here? Miss me?"

Her black gauntlet covered hand waved at the barkeep,"Ale alright for you my lady?"

"I'm afraid I haven't the time today my lady."

Alyssa looked around at the many commoners around, and the lack of nobles. It did not seem a place nobles would wish to find themselves. Certainly the some of the looks she was getting made her feel that this is the first time some had seen a noble. A boy her age stared at her uncomfortably, while a couple of old miners whispered glancing at her sword, while a common woman with a tankard of ale sitting merrily in the lap of what Alyssa suspected was a sailor winked at her while laughing and flirting with the man she was with. She shifted awkwardly at the attention she had drawn from all of the bar's patrons, but made no other sign of her discomfort. Her guardsmen said nothing, standing at attention while the music played jauntily in the background. Perhaps I should send Maron here, he would enjoy it and perhaps get him out of my hair.

"I was asked to meet Sir Nemean here. I have only a short time before a War Council to begin planning our next offensive. Have you seen him, my lady?"

---

Sitting by himself in the Stump Room there was little else to do but to turn the cup that held his wine. It was clay and had this strange wavy motif. A child could've made it. That was his first impression and it had stuck. A steady murmur grew into comfortable droning until it slid back again to being more subdued. It was indeed more quiet in here but it worked on his nerves. It wasn't them even, the other patrons, it was something else. Nemean shifted his weight. That didn't help. His lips felt dry and he felt the need to swallow. From the main barroom a higher crescendo came. Some drunk probably fell of his bar-stool or some such. It wasn't unease he figured. He had a hard time keeping still, unusual for him. Against knowing better, he didn't want to admit he was nervous. He knew but didn't acknowledge he'd glanced at the double doors that allowed people into the Stump Room at least two dozen times. Every time someone entered he looked up and every time he felt a bit of disappointment as it wasn't her.

Resolving to wet his lips with a sip of wine he noticed that the cheese he'd asked for hadn't been brought yet. Instantly, a frown appeared as his hand withdrew from the cup of wine. That won't do. He thought to himself. The doors opened again and snippets of a rowdy song snuck in with the new patrons. Nemean placed his hands on the table and pushed himself off his chair before making for the doors himself.

Pushing through with one hand he immediately directed his attention in the general direction of the Bar. Half turning his head preemptively and uttering the words: Barman! Where's the cheese? Are you waiting until it's become blue cheese before you'll serve it to me? Looking but not really looking Nemean's eyes came into focus. Armed guards? Eyes scanned the room. Those guards looked familiar. Oi! Move off the way lad! A man pushed past him from behind as he cleared the doorway. There she was. His eyes beheld her and she stood radiant like a bright star on a cloudy night.

A very cloudy night as his line of sight was promptly broken by a mass of men trying to dance together while having their armed locked together. They managed to go from left to right but even that was quite a feat in their state. Not wanting to wait Nemean manoeuvred through the crowd. Pushing, elbowing and dodging. The going was slower than he'd liked and the irritation was only mildly tempered by practised civility that was mostly lost anyway on the patrons that stood between him and Alyssa.

Alyssa, I mean, Imperatrix. Nemean fumbled as he came close enough to say the words without having to shout to be audible. You made it. He couldn't help himself from smiling the words and instantly hoped she wouldn't think him mocking.

Young Master? You be wanting them cheese still? The Barman called.

---

He is mocking me. She thought, as she saw the young knight stumble off the the dancing floor before her. It is no matter. I have allowed him to bother me enough already. Truthfully, she wanted this conversation to be over so that she could return to the War Council. The failure of the last campaign still weighed on her and she was anxious to start planning for the next. She had not slept much last night trying to piece together how to avoid the pitfalls she fell into this time and the thoughts continued throughout the morning.

Alyssa shot Dustiria a sceptical glance before turning back to the not. Her presence may not be an accident. She considered, standing at ease, before addressing the knight who had fumbled his way to her.

"Indeed, I am here. You have summoned me, Sir, and I have come. Would you speak with me here or privately?"

So that's Nemean," Dustiria thought to herself as she looked the man over. "Hello Sir Nemean." She said coolly as she came from behind the table to stand behind Aylssa in her customary spot.

Her eyes not leaving the man she asked her liege, "Do you need me my lady?"

Alyssa's words sounded exactly like the letters she had sent Nemean the last two years. Fortunately, during that time he'd become more practised at dealing with them. Internally at least but the moment it took him to respond caused him some embarrassment. Ehm... He considered Dustiria sitting right there and looked over at her for a moment. Privately? I think that.. yes, privately would be better.

His eyes moved back to the double doors that led the Stump Room and then they went to the exit that led out towards the alley. I don't quite know what would be quite private though. As if asking a question he glanced over at Dustiria. Alyssa bit her tongue as the knight's eyes shifted towards the back room and the exit. He does not know what would be private? It was he who summoned her to this dingy place, he did not know where he wished to speak?

The Imperatrix's sworn sword looked like she was considering something then said, "Follow me." Dustiria motioned before her liege could speak and took the knightly pair to a back room behind the bar. She made a movement with her fingers at the barkeep that those following couldn't see and the large muscled man moved aside. She slid aside a panel that looked like wall and motioned Alyssa and Nemean into a room that clearly looked like it was used for private gambling.

"Will this do?"

There were tables set up loaded with dice and cards of varying sorts, clearly a room for playing games.  Alyssa wondered why such a room would be hidden away and also why her sworn knight would own such a secret place, still she did not question it and entered the private room, followed by the Sir behind her. Standing again at ease she nodded to Dustiria and thanked her for the privacy, before turning to Sir Nemean, looking at him expectantly. Dustiria took the hint and left, sliding the panel back in place. Outside, she leaned against the bar, scanning the room. As she waited for the two discussing things in the gambling room to emerge she watched the door expectantly,

I thought he would be here by now. I guess it will have to wait since we head out soon, she thought to herself. The burly barkeep placed another ale by her and made a head movement towards the hidden room. She shakes her head no and continued her scanning of the room and the double door entrance.

---

The doors to the 'Stump flew open, the saloon flapping wildly as the sun set. The individual in the lead was well known in the city, and apparently among the patrons of this bar, as a small cheer went up and glasses clinked.

Those with an eye on the well-to-do in this city might have overlooked this swarthy individual, a tall and broad man in a shirt and breeches and second-best-jacket and boots, save for a medallion around his neck; this was Margrave Smiddich Fontaine, the black-bladed Duke of Perdan. His fingers were bedecked by rings, a cutlass at his hip; not his daily carry anymore, but a comfortable and familiar sidearm.

If the Duke was trying to be discrete, he was failing spectacularly. While the Pirate Lord was definitely dressed down for the evening, he was joined by a gaggle of followers who could barely stand, let alone keep quiet. Here, a bankers son, a merchant and his brother, a wealthy tradesman (complete with strumpet clinging to his arm); these were not nobles themselves but comfortably upper middle class. Dustria was startled as the rambunctious party enters the bloody stump. She had never seen this man before what an odd mix of dandy and commoner. She relaxed as people cheered and went back to her watch. Obviously this group was no threat.

"Your Grace", offered the barman, saluting with an empty shot glass, "Cleaned that office out like you asked, Lord. The regular?"

Smiddich nodded in the affirmative as his throng milled through the tables, greeting patrons with a laugh and a slap on the back. The barman reached under the table, pulling out several dusty glass bottles of dark green; the Duke snatched them up, and a packet of cigars from a stand. The Duke flipped a dark cigar into his mouth and patted down his jacket for a light until one of his groupies obliged. As he went behind the bar Dustiria's warrior mask expression slapped into place and she forced her way through his entourage to him.

"We'll be taking over the Double-down", grinned Smiddich, his face already ruddy from some previous engagement. Before the barman could offer any complaint about the room already being occupied, Smiddich and his throng departed, plucking glassware from tables and trays amid hollering and cheering.

His entourage preceded him into the chambers, throwing themselves into the chambers with abandon until their clamoring suddenly stopped; the room was already taken, and by a couple of nobles, no less..... their very own Imperatrix, and Knight Nemean. One standing, the other seated with a quill and papers.

"What be the hold up?", asked Smiddich as he shouldered his way in past the strumpet. Dustiria grabbed his arm, moments too late to conceal the secret meeting,

"Ah...", he said simply, and his throng shuffled their feet listlessly, for in a way they spied their evening about to be ruined. "Imperatrix", he nodded, "Sir Nemean."

"Sir I must ask you to leave." Dustiria said her face twisting into confusion as he addressed those inside the room.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke.

---

NEEDS EDITING BELOW THIS LINE

Alyssa jumped, startled at the booming voice of the entrant Duke. Yanking her arm away from Nemean's hand, who was holding her own hand to his chest. She stared mortified at the black-bladed duke and her own sworn knight, as well as some of the curious bar patrons who gathered to the bar for a chance to spy at the cause of the commotion, wholely aware of what they might be thinking at the sight they came upon. The Duke looked quite surprised at the sight Alyssa's hand upon the young knight's chest while the woman who winked at her in the barroom gave an encouraging holler. She heard a laugh from further back, who's it was she could not see.

She turned to Nemean, a horrific realization on her face as all the pieces fell into place in her mind. /I have been set up/ She thought, recalling the cheeky smile on his face when he first appeared to her, Dustiria's unexpected presence, and the seedy locale she had been brought to. As the shock and horror on her face quickly turned, her brow furrowed and her nostrils flared in Nemean's direction.

"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!". She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger.

"Perhaps I was mistaken. I think I do know who you are." She barked andstormed past him towards the exit, stopping to address the intruders. "My apologies your grace," she said to Duke Smiddich "There is a meeting I must attend."

She then addressed Dustiria whose role in this she was unclear on but whose involvement she was convinced of. "You and I will speak this evening." She growled. Her heart racing as she stormed out of the establishment, her face red with water begining to form in her eyes.

"your grace" Alyssa's words echoed in her head as realization sunk in. She released the dukes arm as fast as one would avoid touching fire. The normally confidant knight stood still in shock and was brushed aside as the Imperatrix stormed off.

Kenneth and Captain Septinia were almost at the Bloody Stump, discussing their plans.

"Mastercrafter Helena was quite impressive, I can see why you recommended her. She's a cousin you say?"

"Yes, sir, took over the shop from my uncle. They were always the better-off half of the family, but she's put it to good use, she should be able to help with your pl-"

Their conversation ended abruptly as the door slammed open, and the Imperatrix strode out, face red, eyes wet, and steel not quite in her hands but clearly quite close to it.

He and Septinia shared a quick look and leapt to the side to allow her the middle of the rather cramped street, which she made her way quickly through. Kenneth couldn't tell if it was a tactical retreat, or a march to get her armor and reinforcements.

Kenneth carefully leaned around the doorway, seeing his new liege, Dustiria, and...Was that Nemean? He certainly met the description...

"So, I seem to have missed all the excitement! Are we hunkering down for a battle, or is it something worse? And my apologies, Lady Dustiria, I was making a few arrangements on the matter we had discussed, but now I feel that I was either very lucky or unlucky to miss what just happened..."

Duke Smiddich had apparently walked in on quite a scene.

His crowd of hangers on were shuffling listlessly, not knowing where to look. Sir Nemean and the Imperatrix had obviously been in the middle of something, and once they were sprung, the tensions on their coils had snapped. Nemean looked confused, Alyssa looked furious and hurt, and a short, rusty haired knight had clapped her black gauntlets on his arm.

"Sir!", said the braided knight, wearing a black padded jacket and a purple surcoat with a heraldric pin, "I must ask you to leave!"

His eyes narrowed on the knight protector. Black and purple, a left-facing hunting bird. House Noire.

He had purchased this locale long ago, while he was still Duke in Bescanon.. back when there was a duchy in Bescanon. Oh, she was a fine city and his first real command in Perdan. He thought back on those days fondly. They had a new King, then a new Queen; portal magic was out of control on both sides. Perdan and her new Knights and refugees were finally making a name for themselves and carving out glory for themselves.

There hadn't been much call for renovations on this dingy dive; it wasn't meant to make money. Instead, she served as a clandestine location for meetings, gambling, and a venue for the performing arts. Smiddich hadn't thought much on the 'Stump until he heard that his knights had been frequenting again, sometimes in public and sometimes in private.

Those that knew him before, when he was a mere Knight of Xavax, thought him fierce; he was fierce, and feared, and smelled of smoke and gunpowder. His low speech, bad habits and questionable morality spoke of an adventurous upbringing as a privateer. A deft hand with a cutlass and the compunction to use it at the merest slight made him unapproachable... practically feral.

The Perdan duchy appointment had cooled all of that. That, before, was pleasure, and this was business... the business of keeping his realm running. As much as he tried to deny it, he found a life of wealth and affluence appealing, and slowly the rough exterior was plastered with a veneer of untouchable civility. His rough speech was as clipped into sensibility as his facial hair, and he groomed both fastidiously. A Duke had to make appearances.

Which was why it was so important to have a place to relax, enjoy a drink and a smoke, and utterly destroy some fools at cards every once in a while.

The Black-bladed Duke gave way as Alyssa shoved her way through in no uncertain terms, "My apologies, your Grace!", she mumbled, and the gauntlet released off his arm as if burned.

"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!"

Dustiria tried to get out of the Duke's way as well but his followers blocked the way. At her name she looks to the door and sees Sir Kenneth. Her cheeks flush for a moment as she realizes he can see her predicament.

Her eyes go to the Duke," am sorry your grace. If I had known it was you I would never have dreamed of trying to restrain you. Forgive me." She says with a bow before turning her head,narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand,"her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?"

Panes of glass, thick and strong. Yet, allowing vision without hindrance. Not stacked but carefully placed, one next to the other. As tall as a person. The beginning and the end of this string beyond knowledge.

"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke. ~Smiddich Fontaine

The rock was hurled. Grey, bordering on anthracite. Specks of quartz glittering in a perfect summer sun.

He felt her hand upon his chest. The briefest of moments. It might've been four heartbeats, it might've been five. However long it lasted. I felt like the blink of an eye. A ripple rumbled through her from the core. She tore her hand from his. The sharp edges of her nails hurting his skin. The pain was ignored though. Fury rained on him and it consumed all of his attention. Her blue eyes rose like icebergs in an angry northern sea. Dipping into the frosty waters as she uttered the words:

"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!" She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger. ~Alyssa Kingsley

The mass of rock touched the first pane. First imperceptibly slow. Like the last drop of honey, refusing to fall from the jar. Cracks started to appear. A brilliant star was born. Then in a storm, it burst outward as the glass gave way to stone.

Nemean couldn't speak as Alyssa turned away. Every detail flooding his mind. Unbidden he saw her rage. Outrage. The hurt in her eyes. The rising tide of tears she fought. The questions that streamed past her mind's eye. Glancing eyes seeking answers and accusing at the very same time. They didn't meet his anymore.

An awkward stance was struck as she faced the Duke. Words murmured. A pivot, defensive stance. The warrior unsure. Retreat became the path and gone. She was gone.

Forlorn. Usually the first to storm the walls. First to die. First to be remembered. The feeling that he felt was nothing like the way they spoke of the word. Crushed, abandoned, torn. Like the soldier attempting to scale the walls by ladder. Only to catch a cruel boulder thrown from above. Marking both his doom and his grave.

"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!" ~Smiddich Fontaine

Pane after pane shattered. The Chorus of shards being born from glass a deafening song. The rock lost none of its momentum. An onlooker might've hoped it would've. But it didn't and the blizzard grew.

The Duke's words reached his ears like the fiercest hiss of a kitten when he had just endured the roar of an entire pride. A blank stare was all he could muster as he looked at the man. An expression one might find on a man that was lost and had strayed beyond caring. Having foregone drink and sustenance a long while ago. Beginning to accept that the road will be his final home.

Henna eyes demanded his attention. They weren't alone and a new storm brewed.

Narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand," her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?" ~Dustiria Noire

What did I do to the Imperatrix? The words formed in his mind. Sometimes a warrior crosses the line. When a dear companion, a brother in arms has fallen. The danger becomes insignificant. The threat of death and excruciating pain a mere nuisance in comparison to the desire to follow. To avenge. To feel like you've done something about it. There was no enemy here now to unleash such blind rage. Dustiria was no foe he could try and batter down and it would make no difference anyway. Like other brothers in arms would hold you down as they saw the abandon in your eyes. They were the first to know. Sorrow has to come out.

Nemean's head lulled forwards. His knees felt weak and the wind in his lungs seemed to evaporate as he opened his mouth. He slouched against the table. Sitting, leaning and looking defeated. The green glimmer in his eyes, so cast in the light of candles. Extinguished as they shut.