(no subject)
The Nexus caters to everyone and anything, and thus the visiting Overlord has no trouble in finding a sufficiently black and serrated cast-iron throne for his liking. The youngest Lord Gromgard is slouched in it now, spiky-helmed head in hand as he leans on one of the arms. It’s not exactly the stylish Evil slouch he should be cultivating, but he’s preoccupied with at least the third worst headache he’s ever had in his life. To take his mind off it (and the smell emanating from that shifty patch of light beside his seat), he’s going to ask a couple of questions.
What… ‘occupational hazards’ have you encountered that you did not foresee? The voice is, naturally, dark and ominous and heavy, and just because the air seems to vibrate with its passing doesn’t mean it’s made of sound.
He stops himself from rubbing his helmet, because first, it won't help and second, it's undignified. And is it the first week of the job that’s meant to be the worst, or the third?
((Cross-posted to Sages))
What… ‘occupational hazards’ have you encountered that you did not foresee? The voice is, naturally, dark and ominous and heavy, and just because the air seems to vibrate with its passing doesn’t mean it’s made of sound.
He stops himself from rubbing his helmet, because first, it won't help and second, it's undignified. And is it the first week of the job that’s meant to be the worst, or the third?
((Cross-posted to Sages))