"Well, well, what have we here?" A cold quiet voice spoke to an empty room, his long deft fingers picking up a letter that the servent had placed upon the mahogany desk. He slid one finger to cut the wax, using a long thin claw slice through it and open it, dropping the envolope that was addressed to a Master Sybrant Whitefang. Dropping it onto his desk, he picked up a beautiful carven pipe and lit it before he read the 4 page letter, smoke rings slowly decorating the room.
As words flew by under his eyes, the smirk on his face, which was normally there, grew wider, until when he sat back, the High Lord Sybrant Whitefang actually smiled. A servant of the hidden castle who poked her head in to see if she could come clean up yet saw him sitting with a smile, and gave a shriek, running down the hall. He laughed softly, a cold mirthless laugh, and turned back to the letter. With this news, things would go better for him, and he always liked when things went in his favor. Now, what did he need to do next? Oh, he was going to go see the prisoner that his favorite henchman had come up before to tell him he had finally brought in, after much problems. But what was life, with out the problems behind it? To an immortal Daywalker, it was just entertainment.
Sybrant rose, long hands thrust in loose black slacks, loose silk shirt on over his handsome body, pipe between his fangs. He had been in the library, and while he loved that room, if he loved anything really, the Dining Room was his second favorite room, with the scents making a soothing haven for him to enter and 'feast' in. He had also found that humans tended to relax and make the process go easier when they were calm, though screams were always an interesting aspect. But on through the sweet smelling room, past the hallway, and down to the dungeon, only to pause half-way when he heard a voice that made him grown and slide a hand over his face. Ardea. Her brother, his favorite henchman, had come in half way during the letter, and he had been so into it that when he had voiced in his growl what could he do to get his sister out of the way, the High Lord had muttered, put her on guard duty or something. Shit, he had forgotten.
'Are you okay?! Please don't cry! Everything'll be allright I promise.' How can she promise that? Stupid girl. But it got better. She made light, he could tell because of the crackling noises, and quickly stepped back into the shadows, melting in them, waiting. 'Now that the cryings over lets stay we start over a new. My names Ardea and I'll be your gaurd for now. I'd shake your hand but were not supposed to have any type of physical contact. Sorry, and yes I know the rules suck.' Why does she do these random things? He thought, almost tiredly, because she was the most exhasiting person he'd ever met, and hoped to meet. Making a mental note to make her personally clean the dungons and neaten the desk, he stepped off of the final step and out of the shadows, heaving a sigh. "Ardea, Ardea, Ardea, what ever am I going to do with you?" He spoke neatly through his pipe, before removing it and walking over into the torchlight, standing next to it and thrusting the now empty pipe in his breast pocket of the loose crimson shirt.
He made a scary figure, long face cold, and still, fangs slightly visable, skin pale and guant, for he hadn't had anyone to feed in awhile, with his clawed hands thrust in his baggy pants, black and crimson clothing a startling feature, drowed out by his golden eyes, that focased on nothing and everything at once, amking you feel unworthy, inscure. Enter the Twisted High Lord. "You know that you aren't susposed to talk to the prisonsers like you feel anything for them, and yet when I give you this job, hoping you will have learned after letting the man I needed very much escape, you would talk to this girl like you care? Remember, you don't." He had stopped behind her, letting one hand fall on her shoulder lightly, tone cold, but like a parent talking to a slow child. "Now, apoligize to me, this girl, and your brother for failing us all, then neaten up the desk while I contemplate your punishment. Remind me again what happened when you let Sir Issac escape? I want it be be worse." It was said, the bastard had spoken.
He turned to the girl in the cell finally, her who had been crying, and took her figure in. "Yes, you are the one. But why did you resist, litte mage girl? That posion that you have been given is something that is in my favor, but then again, I can't have you collapsing while I question you..." He snapped his fingers, not bothering to turn around. "Ardea. Find and fetch the antidote that we should have have for this poison, not all of it mind, but enough that the pain will be gone for a few hours. Come right back, and if it's a too big job for you to handle, send your brother to go do it, but come right back, understand?" He needed to use small words for this girl, small and simple. He turned back to Megan, speaking-wise. "Now, do you know why you are here, wench?"
