433 Don't Kill The Messenger

The day after the Winter solstice banquet:

Rychell sat in his dark office, brooding over the fact that he couldn't kill Ailwin with a glass of wine and a pipe in his hand when Voron walked into the room.

"Now that all those imbeciles are gone and you've had time to relax, mind telling me what the f**k you think you were doing?" Voron took the seat in front of the desk.

Blowing out along puff of smoke, Rychell leaned back in his chair.

"Nope."

Voron huffed in frustration, "Are we no longer on the same page after how many centuries?...We all agree that he needs to stay alive."

"I didn't agree to it."

"You were out voted, Rychell!"

Tapping his pipe on the table's top surface, Rychell gathered more dried leaves to stuff in his pipe.

"He's just like him. Nothing good will come from keeping him alive."