A plump man in a silver linen tunic jogged awkwardly down the stone steps, his poulaines constantly snagging in the creases and cracks between each step. He stopped beside the footman, whose hands were already on the carriage door, muscles tense in preparation for the resistant hinges during the swivelling action. He gestured dismissively at the worker, his arms batting against the baggy sleeves. Bowing, the servant hurriedly left the scene, walking through the open double doors and disappearing down an adjoining corridor.
Pulling a handkerchief from his inner pocket, the man gently dabbed it against his red, plump cheeks and forehead, removing the sweat. His eyes quickly scanned over his uniform. The overweight man repositioned his bonnet while running his hand through the golden tassel, undoing any unwanted knots. He then smoothed out his tunic, ensuring it was wrinkle-free. The official finished the rushed inspection just as the guild master hopped out, landing gracefully on the pavement.
The man scanned the guild master briefly before gesturing for Nicholas to follow him inside. The two strolled past the knights holding open the doors, receiving sharp salutes.
The warriors resumed their guard duty, eyes scanning the garden and driveway for intruders. After the two VIPs had entered, the armoured soldiers grabbed their respective handles before walking the doors back to their original positions, locking the gate after themselves.
As soon as the guards were out of sight, the two men embraced, patting each other on the back.
"It's been a while, Patrick! How is the new seneschal job treating you? I hope they pay you enough... It seems like you aren't eating well," while nudging his elbow against the man's belly. Patrick's stomach jiggled in indignation, triggering a snort from Nicholas.
The seneschal cracked a forced grin, the smile not reaching his eyes. Nicholas's gaze turned serious. He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, "What has happened?"
He felt Patrick's hand dig into his shoulder, "Tension and unease are brewing from some recent events. Malcolm and I are troubled deeply by their timing."
The man's voice turned even quieter, audible to only Nicholas's sensitive hearing. "Malcolm had locked himself in his bed chambers last week with a stack of paperwork. He came out dishevelled with massive black rings around his eyes. Servants tell me the light never turns off, even at night."
Nicholas frowned deeply, his brows scrunched up in concern. He took a deep breath. The guild master's lips straightened out before curving upwards slightly. He whispered in that same quiet tone, "Should you really be addressing your boss by his first name? And to a stranger no less?"
The seneschal rolled his eyes in exasperation. He withdrew the arm hanging onto his friend's shoulder, refashioning it into a fist launcher. He playfully drove his clenched hand into his friend's shoulder, grinning evilly, "No, but it allows me to punish you every time that joke is made!"
Nicholas pretended to be in pain, his other hand grabbing his "shattered," limp arm while doubling over, howling for medical aid.
The doors close to them slammed open, servants streaming towards the pair. Seeing the chaos and panic he had inflicted on the castle's citizens, the guild master winked at the seneschal. "That should do it. Some pretty interesting rumours will pop up about you in a few hours."
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Unable to suppress his acting streak, the guild master crashed onto his knees, raised a hand towards the ceiling and shouted dramatically, "I SEE THE LIGHT!" His arm slowly fell back down. To finish off the terrific performance, Nicholas stuck out his tongue.
The reaction in the crowd was mixed. Some looked in barely veiled horror, others suspicion. The older ones cupped their hands over their mouths in an effort to suppress their laughter.
The guild master opened his eyes briefly to peek at the seneschal only to be caught in the act, coming face to face with the man. His mouth was pressed together in a thin line, eyebrows narrowed. Yet it didn't last long. The stupidity and hilariousness of the situation betrayed him.
Amusement welled up inside Patrick, soothing his stressed muscles and mind before flowing out of his mouth in uncontrollable laughter. The giggle was like a plague, jumping from one person to another. Small snorts and coughs broke out among the spectators in a desperate bid to mask their amusement.
The crowd looked on in sheer amazement as two of the nation's most powerful figures giggled like schoolchildren. Not wanting to offend the powerhouses, the audience quickly returned to their rooms, closing the door firmly behind them. Muffled laughter rang through the hall.
After a few moments of composing themselves and fixing their clothing, the two buddies returned on their journey towards the throne room.
Small bursts of laughter and snorts broke out as the two recalled each other's most hilarious and embarrassing mishaps, each trying to outdo the other. By the time the two friends were up to date with each other, they had arrived at the steel doors barring their way to the throne room. After scanning the two officials with [Appraisal], the two knights opened the double doors, saluting as they entered the massive room.
Two chandeliers dominated the ceiling. Gold, silver and gems covered the entire surface, leaving no area unadorned. Tall arching stained glass windows depicting kings and queens lined the walls. Artefacts of historical and cultural importance, varying from ruby necklaces to scrolls filled the gaps between each artwork. At the very back of this long procession of wealth was a plain wooden throne. It was empty.
In the centre of the room stood a massive diorama of the kingdom and its surrounding lands. Rivers, creeks, villages and cities dotted the landscape. Sitting around the table were three people.
The man on the left wore plated armour, a sword hanging from his belt. The outlines and edges were adorned with gold and jewellery. The centre of the chest piece held a small, golden crown.
The man on the right wore a dark blue robe that dragged on the floor. A massive white beard obscured the bottom half of his face to the upper chest from sight. A small pair of spectacles sat on the ridge of his nose.
The man sitting at the head of the table wore a circular, golden band with six pillars rising from the headpiece, each tip fixed with a gem. Carvings and decorations covered each surface, leaving no space untouched. A brown, ungroomed beard covered his face.
All three officials leaned into the table, backs slumped and eyes bloodshot. Deep bags hang beneath their eyes. The two men didn't even acknowledge Nicholas's presence, too wrapped up in placing toy miniatures of soldiers and wizards on the three-dimensional model.
The king looked up from the board, "Nice to see you, Guild Master of the Adventurer's Guild!" His voice remained clear and steady despite his sickly, sleep-deprived demeanour.
Nicholas glared at the blue-robed man before returning his gaze to Malcolm. "Your majesty, what seems to be the problem?"
"What seems to be the problem..." The man repeated back to himself, "What seems to be the problem..." His voice raised an octave with each repetition. "I'LL TELL YOU THE PROBLEM! WHICH ONE WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT? WE HAVE A UNDEAD ONE! A MYSTERIOUS ONE," he paused briefly to regain his breath before continuing with his rant, "ANOTHER UNKNOWN ONE AND A CULT ONE." His voice trailed off into a croak with the outburst, resulting in a coughing fit.
Pouring water into his mouth from a nearby wine glass, he continued in a raspy but normal pitch, "And you're gonna be dealing with the undead one."
"WHAT."