Turn sent
Ibn Don's sweltering, half-naked body yet again launched itself through a pair of flaming hoops held by a bored courtesan. With a loud thump, he landed unceremoniously on the fine Ishtakaran carpet lining his office. He lay there, breathing heavily, his shining, exhausted bum raised like an old, eroded mound to some unnamed god, taunting the sky.
-'Milord, must we do this...' pleaded the chancellor.
-'I AM SUBTLE!' insisted the head of the noble house al-Malik from his prone position. 'Just keep recording'.
Recovering some of his breath, Donald grunted and continued issuing orders without making any effort to lift his inert body from the floor:
-'Sell all my assets in the Scraver casino on Alyon. Buy all gem stocks you can get your hands on. Use that to hire five more companies of the Nung. Move everything from my account in De Moley moneylender bank to my 26th wive's personal account. What's her name again?'
-'It's...' started the Master of Ceremony
-'Never mind that. Arrange for a casino liner to crash and collect the insurance. Pay for half of a Shantor Cavalry division to be sent from Shaprut to Alyon via a commercial mail service. Make sure at least half of them survives the journey.'
Donald rose, turned, and took a few steps back before dashing across the room and diving head-first through the hoops again. He continued from the other side of the floor:
-'File for bankrupcy once you've removed all the funds. Start a new company in one of my grand-kid's name. I don't care which one. Build new offices on Madoc, send cousin Suq Madiq to oversee. Confiscate all landed Church frigates and make up some legal reason for keeping them.
Keep bombarding everything on De Moley. Cite Guild protection Act the previous Patriarch agreed to sign in the whatever year. Send in more food from Madoc farms...'
Lady Isandra burst into the room in a highly agitated state
-'Uncle! The League has just attacked! Cousin Ibn Laden has been assassinated in his lodge on Delphi. Uncle Ber Lusconi managed to send us a message from Leagueheim that they're raining fire on his head and that he wants his Vorok concubine to inherit all his fortune! There's no more paper in the toilet!'
The sullen expression on Ibn Donald's face barely changed as he rose up, turned, and dashed towards the hoops again.
-'Keep recording! And bring me more hoops!'