The executioner looked around the room, his hand going up to unconsciously smooth his matted hair. He licked his lips. “High?”
“Are you sure?”
One of the counselors, a large, portly man who was already sweating profusely, collapsed.
“Yeth,” said the executioner, slowly and carefully.
“Good choice!”
Everyone suddenly relaxed. The guards let their spears waver, as the counselors quickly found chairs and the serving maids fanned themselves with their platters.
“Torture it is, then!” Arcklebar announced.
Six more counselors, three guards, and a page all promptly fainted.
One guard near a door started slowly edging out. “Ah ah ah!” shouted Arklebar, pointing at him. “That’ll be extra torture for you!”
The guard said a bad word, but returned to his post.
“My lorth?”
“Yes?”
“We have no thorthuror. You had me ethecuthe him lasth weeth bethause his spithes weren’th sharp enough.”
“And we don’t have a new one? Didn’t someone put a posting on the job board?”
“Ith has yeth to be filleth, my lorth.”
Arklebar took a deep breath, sucking it through his teeth. He looked around the room, pointing and muttering to himself. “Sixty-four,” he finally said. “That’s a lot for me to do personally.”
“Yes, lorth.”
“I mean, I’d have to totally rearrange my schedule. I’d probably have to work late and I’ve got to go to the orphanage’s yearly play, which frankly, is going to suck. It’s just a bad week for that much torturing.” Arklebar tapped his helm. “I suppose you’ll all have to consider yourselves tortured.”
There was a chorus of ‘aye’s’ and ‘yes, lords.’
Arklebar dismissed the assertions with a wave. “Yes, yes. I am most merciful. Except,” he said, his gaze going to his counselors. “For you lot. I can’t,” he continued. “Have advisors that faint and sweat at the mere thought of a bit of execution or torture! I want you all to be able to run four laps around the castle quickly and without pause in two month’s time. If you fail, well, let’s say there will be another posting on the job board.”
Arklebar rose, his cape swirling around him as the spikes on his armor gleamed in the ruddy lantern light. “Salads, gentlemen,” he said as he strode out of the hall. “I suggest a lot of salad.”
Cheers,
-Jason
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4 comments:
"Arklebar rose, his cap swirling around him"
Cap?
An evil lord's life is not an easy one. Poor Arklebar can't even afford an "e" for his cape.
Well, it's a very large cap, with lots of feathers and things . . .
I imagine it must be large indeed to emerge from under his helmet, feathers and all.
The heat of his mighty wroth caused it to expand, which lifted up his helmet and exposed it.
Wow, you could really read that the wrong way :)
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