Dragonieth 24 Mischa The Manservan

A harsh stream of moonlight from the Vorn's hawk emblem shaped skylight window was cast over his manly features, drawing out his red eyes that regarded his manservant shrewdly.

Mischa had been his manservant for two decades. He had watched him grow from being a bad seed to a devious man whose perchance for torturing his lovers during s.e.x made him known as the Sick Lover. It didn't help that his appearance was a clever deception of youth, effeminate beauty and weak build. He was the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of a Santhas king and Vorn priestess, so youth and beauty held longevity for him. It also made his eyes open to deception and insight.

He accepted the blood coloured robe Mischa wrapped around his naked body, and the matching ribbon his manservant used to bound his waist length, flowing black hair into a ponytail. His wide lips twitched with a sinister grin at his manservant's heated gaze burning at this back.

"What news from the army at the Greater Northern Strongholds." Oligarch's deep voice grunted.

"Sire, they should reach the Fortress of Danturn by nightfall. Lord Alroy and the Summerfell Clans have joined forces with King Niheli" Mishaka soberly informed his lord.

Oligarch smiled. It was as expected, and with the Westfall Clans also siding with that king, it meant an all out war was declared between the Vorn and Staar's Sigma; those great eight strongholds governed by the King of Staar.

His smile deepened at the thought of that king's pompous att.i.tude and pride. It was going to be sweet victory.

"Make sure they do not deviate from their duties, Mischa. Or it'll be your lùth I steal next." He licked his lips greedily as he towered over his councillor's unimpressed form.

Feeling bored and energised for a hunt, he left the throne room and his manservant behind.
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Mischa snarled at the departed form of his king. He couldn't be complacent and allow his distaste for Oligarch show. His plans were unfolding smoothly and if he played his cards right, he will be the master in time.

"Master General." A deep slick voice drew his attention towards a shadowy recess.

"Grey." A veteran soldier of middle age formally greeted him and carefully whispered. "I have reports that the Lifestone is within the Fourth Hours Necropolis."

Grey was akin to a parental guardian being of his father's former guard, although he rarely did any parenting. Rather, the muscle old man with a scarred face, from a lifetime of battles, allowed Mischa to do what he liked; discreetly cleaning up his mess of scandals and bodies at the end.

Mischa held in his immediate response of frustration. Those idiotic Lochlea Brothers dare to deviate from their quest! He mused on plans and relaxed his frustration on one that seemed fitting.

"Release the Scorn Crows with orders for a hunt. They can do whatever they want with the bodies, but that stone returns to me."

Grey acknowledged his orders with a bow and turned to make good on them.