Purge(6)

In the tranquil sanctuary of his office within the sprawling confines of the Duchy estate, the Duke reclined upon a plush couch, his study was a palisade of serenity amidst the ceaseless whirlwind of duties and responsibilities that defined his station. With a weighty document propped open upon his lap, its pages adorned with the intricate details of the month's approved activities, the Duke found himself ensnared in a mire of contemplation.

Eldmund's imminent return to school, poised to embark upon his second year of academia, loomed large in the Duke's thoughts, a bittersweet realization that elicited a lamentation tinged with paternal concern. The Duke couldn't help but marvel at the passage of time, witnessing the maturation of his son with a mixture of pride and wistfulness. Edmund was a close second in his year, and he hoped his son would return at year-end as the top student.

A soft rap upon the door announced the arrival of his faithful first butler, a venerable steward of the household, bearing a tray laden with an assortment of refreshments. Opting for a steaming cup of tea to ward off the chill that lingered in the air courtesy of his windows that he left open out of preference, the Duke acknowledged the servant's presence with a nod of gratitude, his focus still tethered to the papers sprawled before him.

"Refreshments, my lord?" queried the butler, his deferential tone a familiar echo in the Duke's ears. With a genial smile, the Duke acquiesced, allowing a momentary reprieve from the work that enveloped him. His butler left and the duke returned to his work.

Alone once more, save for the quiet hum of the estate, the Duke found himself adrift in a sea of introspection. With each turn of the page, he reflected upon the events that unfurled under his stewardship, each decision was subject to influence from his unwavering commitment to the welfare of his domain.

Eldmund and Alaric, his two stalwart sons, stood as beacons of promise amidst the tumult of uncertainty. He did not wish to admit it but something bothered him about the frantic movement of noblemen and common folk alike. In his mind, Chaos was brewing and he could no longer promise tomorrow, at least for the rest of the nation, but the Eastern Duchy would remain, especially with Alaric and Eldmund taking over. Their unwavering dedication and indomitable spirit filled the Duke's heart with an ineffable sense of pride, a paternal swell of affection that transcended the bounds of words.

As thoughts of the impending Astrevian Gala danced through his mind, a symphony of anticipation and excitement for all who attended, the Duke's countenance softened with a sense of contentment. With his family poised to accompany him to the capital, the Duke revelled in the harmonious rhythm of his life, splendidly pleased with the trajectory of events unfolding before him.

In the quiet sanctum of his office, amidst the pages of his book and the warmth of his tea, the Duke found solace in the knowledge that, despite the challenges that lay ahead, he stood resolute in his duty and devotion to his kin and kingdom alike.

°°°°

In the dimly lit expanse of the Devil's Lounge, Voss, the inscrutable mastermind behind the establishment, moved with measured steps, his usually composed demeanour tinged with an undercurrent of restlessness. The hushed whispers of clandestine dealings echoed through the air, a stark contrast to the bustling energy that typically permeated the Lounge's atmosphere.

As he awaited Alaric's arrival, Voss observed the subtle movements of his subordinates in the background, their silhouettes flitting amidst the shadows like phantoms. Their presence, though unobtrusive, spoke volumes of the meticulous preparations underway. He was under no illusions of defeating the prince of the East if the other two Lords failed, he just hoped to escape with as much wealth as possible should Lysandra's plan work.

The silent night outside seemed to mirror Voss's own sense of unease, its stillness punctuated only by the occasional distant sound that resonated like an ominous portent. With each passing moment, the anticipation hanging in the air grew palpable, a harbinger of the imminent upheaval that loomed on the horizon.

Turning his attention to Lysandra, whose usually vibrant countenance was subdued by a shadow of disquiet, Voss approached her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Her presence, though typically a beacon of cordiality within the Lounge's walls, now seemed shrouded in a veil of apprehension.

"Lysandra," Voss began his voice low but laced with an undertone of inquiry. "You appear troubled. Is there something amiss?"

Lysandra met his gaze with a sombre expression, her features betraying a sense of inner turmoil. "I... I should have left earlier," she confessed, her voice tinged with regret. "A sickness churns within me, a foreboding of impending turmoil. I'm unsure if my preparations are even enough."

Voss regarded her with a nod of understanding, his keen intellect absorbing the gravity of her words. "Uncertainty breeds unrest," he mused, his tone reflective. "But we are no strangers to the danger. Together, we weather the storm." She offered him a wry smile but he couldn't help but feel she was not on the same boat as him.

As the weight of apprehension settled over the Devil's Lounge, Lysandra's gaze flickered with a trace of concern as she turned to Voss, her more trusted confidant in the tumultuous world they inhabited, if trust was even a thing among their kind.

"Voss," she began, her voice tinged with a note of urgency, "have we received any word from Mr. E?"

Voss regarded her query with a measured gaze, his brow furrowing imperceptibly as he contemplated the implications of their silent correspondence with their elusive ally. The enigmatic figure known only as "Mr E" had long been a pivotal player in their intricate web of alliances, his insights and resources instrumental in navigating the labyrinthine landscape of their shady endeavours within Lysandria. To Voss, it was a miracle how they'd even managed to establish such strongholds within the shadow of a territory whose Lord was famed for his might.

Lysandra's unease mirrored his own, her apprehension a silent echo of the uncertainties that lingered on the fringes of their carefully constructed facade. The absence of Mr E's response since they had dispatched word of the unfolding events only served to exacerbate their mounting trepidation, casting a shadow of doubt over the reliability of their alliances in the face of impending upheaval.

"We have not," Voss finally replied, his voice tinged with a note of solemnity. "His silence speaks volumes. I think we are up against something bigger than him"

Though the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, Lysandra's resolve remained steadfast, her determination unyielding in the face of adversity. With a nod of acknowledgement, she turned her gaze once more to the entrance, where the imminent arrival of Alaric heralded the dawn of perhaps a new chapter in her life, or the ending of her story altogether.

As the minutes stretched into an eternity, the palpable tension within the Devil's Lounge seemed to intensify with each passing moment, and the precarious balance of power that teetered on the brink of upheaval settled on her mind.

With a final glance towards the entrance, where Alaric's impending arrival hung in the air like a lingering promise, Voss returned to his vigil, his presence a pillar of strength amidst the encroaching shadows of uncertainty.

°°°°

As the heavy oak doors of the Devil's Lounge swung open, a hush fell over the dimly lit establishment, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. Alaric strode into the room, his presence commanding attention as his contingent followed in his wake, a silent but formidable force.

Voss's expression hardened as he watched Alaric's approach, his jaw set with determination. He knew this encounter wouldn't end well for either of them, but he was prepared to face whatever came his way.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Alaric remarked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Had to take care of the more dangerous creatures on my way here."

Voss's gaze remained steady, his hand subtly inching toward the concealed weapon at his side. "You're the one who's in over your head," he retorted, his voice low and laden with warning. "This ends here, Little Prince."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Alaric surveyed the room, his eyes narrowing in on Voss with a calculating gaze. The Devil's Lounge was a battleground tonight, its once welcoming atmosphere now tinged with the promise of violence and bloodshed.

"Shall we get down to business, then?" Alaric quipped, his tone dripping with malice. "I trust you've saved the best seat for me, Voss."

Voss's grip tightened on his arm rest, his resolve unwavering. "You won't be needing a seat where you're going," he replied icily, steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation. "It's time to settle this once and for all."