Warning: Explicit language.
“Master? The Drow is here. Shall I bring him in?”
The Master rose, his lavish silk robes spilling over his large frame. A fearsome giant of a man, he threw the half finished goblet of spiced wine at the interruption. “Damn him! What in the nine hells does he want now,” he bellowed. “Is it not enough that the bloody worthless stock he brought has cost me more than it’s bloody worth?”
A short and slender elf with skin the color of midnight and hair a greasy off-white sidled into the chamber. He smiled obseqiously as he approached.
Hands on hips, face purpling, the Master was wroth. “What kind of bloody fool do you take me for? Two more of yours are bloody dead and a third is out of bloody action. That’s the eighth this bloody month. I told you to find me some bloody fighters, not some bloody straw men!”
“Master,” the Drow opined, “I am as disappointed as you at this setback. I have agents placed throughout the Vale looking for better stock. Alas,”
“Alas? Don’t bloody give me your bloody alas! Find me some bloody fighters! The bloody whores on Oak Street can bloody fight better than these bloody waste-of-space bloody losers!”
“Yes Master”, the Drow sniveled, drawing away from the big.man’s massive hands. “I have some good news my Master. My eyes and ears have reported seeing the Mul on the Forest Road, heading toward the Harkenvold.”
“About bloody time someone found that bloody little bugger. I want him bloody dead, but not before he bloody knows that there is no bloody escape from my ludus. None! I will bloody well have him back and I will see him dead on the sands of the bloody arena. When will he be here?”
“We have not captured him yet. I was hoping the Circle could help us bring him in.”