The Grand Archon Actev Nu of the Kabal of the Rancid Blade reclined on a solid backless Romanesque sofa aloft one of the many balconies of his mighty citadel. The view below of the Dark City’s towers was so familiar to him. Crimson, sultry, cruel. Behind him appeared the high mistress of the Archon’s gladiatorial court Lady Drachite Hosphel. She was dressed in the long orange robes of the Archon’s chamber rather than her combat attire.
“Why do you not prepare for the hunt?” the old Archon asked his eyes not moving from the skyline. “My arena grows silent”.
“My gladiators and wyches ready themselves as we speak” she spoke quietly also looking out to the red of the sky. “I need the shadow for my protection”.
“Do you not trust your own skills?” The Archon asked “Do you fear pain or combat?” He turned to face her, leaning on his elbow.
“No. I seek to gather the most tools and adversaries for your arena and do not concern myself with my own prowess” She replied. “I seek the most diabolical foes for thee, the best prepared and inconceivable enemies, and the most appropriate nemesis”. He slowly sat up on his sofa shifting his feet to the granite floor and looked up at her for signs of betrayal. She squatted down before him on the balls of her bare feet looking into his old eyes with no more vice in her heart than what he saw and knew was there. “Take all you desire, all the lances and reavers, all the raiders and all the keys to all the gates. Make your cult as ferocious as those you seek”. She grinned revealing etched teeth beyond cold red lips. The Archon grinned also reaching to a silver tray at his side and taking from it a large piece of blue stained cheese. He placed it between his lips.