"Ten people. Please provide accommodation for ten people." You state, leaving the specifics out.
With a nod and a smile, Rekhyt turns to take a look at the garden. "We have gardens like this at our palace. I'll show you when you visit. I will take my leav--"
The heavy double doors swing open, and in strides William. His face is a mottled purple, but he gives you a grin and a wink. Behind him, two Warmachines, by chains, drag in five black-bagged individuals in various states of injury. Clothes ripped, with burn marks and minor lacerations. The smell of blood hangs heavy in the air. "Ah! This must be the Emissary!" William gives a bow, rising with a mocking grin as he takes a step forward. "I would apologize for interrupting what I'm sure was an intimate moment of quiet contemplation and diplomacy, but unfortunately, I found some trash on our doorstep, and figured it should be returned to its owner."
Rekhyt looks over the group with a raised brow, and he speaks in the Scholar's tongue, crisply. "Well. This was unexpected. All of my intel suggested you were nothing but a drunk and a criminal, William."
"Oh, I am. But it wasn't like I needed that much help--"
"William-- explain." You order, sharply.
"These fine individuals are the ringleaders of a Outlander spy network. I didn't pick up the pawns, because it wasn't worth it." William smoothly returns. "As you are an angel of Mercy, what better mercy than to return these people to their owners?" He shifts, reaching into his coat and drawing out his pistol. "Unless, of course, you wanted them executed and disposed of."
"You proved your point, William." Rekhyt concedes.
"No, I haven't--" William strides forward, coming face to face with Rekhyt. "Do you know why I don't have any spies in your shithole, tin-pot empire, Emissary?"
"No."
"You. Are. Not. Worth. It." He turns to you, flicking the safety of his pistol off. "Dead or banished, Pheobe?"
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Topic: McCreary's Planet -- (FINISHED) (Read 258763 times)