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Pacing the room he is in, Syran wore a path across the expensive rug brought in from Khull and as he neared the turning point, he would turn quickly and the wine he is drinking would slosh out of the gold cup spilling across his hand onto the floor leaving a trail of stains across the carpet. He had noticed recently that he has been consuming far more wine than he should but he did not care. Syran is wearing a black lush cotton nobles robe fully lined with burgundy fine satin made of silk and trimmed with jacquard trims. Under the sleeveless robe, he wore a white long sleeve shirt that ballooned out at the sleeves. His short corpulent legs looked as though they were ready to burst out of the rich silk hose he is wearing. On his equally sized feet, he wore a pair of pointed black leather slip-on shoes with the tips pointing up. Around his expansive waist, he had a large gold ring belt with an ornamental dagger hanging from it. With his balding head and age lined face, he looked absolutely ridicules in the outfit he is wearing.
Syran has been first adviser to the king of Riannon for as long as he can remember. Before the present king, he was his father’s adviser and since King Cedric his wife and daughter passed on last year from a mysterious plague, he has been advising the son King Renaldo. King Renaldo is his father in appearance, size and stature but as for the talents to be a proper king he lacked his father’s ability. His master's plans required a king easily molded into a puppet king and King Renaldo in all his ineptness is precisely what they had in mind. What has become problematic for Syran is the two most recent failures that have occurred that have resulted in the deaths of key individuals in the right places that have taken many years to cultivate. Years now wasted that would again be needed to insert key agents into positions of power. A week had gone by since those dreadful failures and still he had not heard from his masters directly or indirectly so he continued to pace the room fearing the worst.
The room he found himself in is as opulent and extravagant as anyone could imagine possible, a warm fire keeping the room comfortable and plush chairs to sit in but of course, Syran could not bring himself to sit. Pacing, as he is his legs would eventually weaken forcing him to sit or collapse onto the floor. The walls covered in rich mahogany polished to a brilliant shine match the beautiful mahogany desk littered with scattered parchments, inkpots and quills used for writing. Behind the desk is a cushioned black leather straight back chair made of the same wood to match the desk. Still he paced in front of his desk, unable to sit. Suddenly, a dark spiraling mass appeared in the room directly in front of the door blocking his exit. The dark spiraling mass spiraled in on itself and disappeared as a cloaked figure emerged in front of Syran.
Syran stopped pacing frozen in place the instant fear he felt etching his face making his pale skin even paler. The evil this wizard of the dark exuded is so palpable he could taste it in his mouth or is it his vile evil that he has tasted all this time hence the increased wine consumption. The minions of the dark were once humans that chose a dark path of evil and because of their choice gained enormous power, the same power that he covets. Peering into the hood, he could see nothing of the evil underneath but he knew from the fear gripping him that it is there its eyes boring into him trying to consume him. Retreating from the advancing wizard he staggered backward into his desk, his wineglass dropping from his useless fingers the fear so intense that he thought his heart would burst from the pressure.
“Again you have failed the masters Syran. Your latest plan failed miserably and it cost us one of our brethren but what of you Syran what price have you paid? You sit here in opulence and drink your wine and one of my brethren dies because you have failed so many times! You who covets power such as mine are not worthy of it! You will have one more chance in the spring to make amends to our masters. Your plan to bring the orcs south and kill our enemies better not fail Syran for if Castle Qenildor does not fall and the duke and his entire family are not destroyed,” the thing did not finish the obvious and the spiraling circle reappeared spiraling inward. The spawn of darkness walked into it drawing it inward as it disappeared.
Games of the Powerful Page 52