Lord Clayton-Reids-Slade walks hurriedly through the black brick streets of the solemnas cliff. He is sweating profusely, and distant to the world around him. He jumps at shadows. The silent dark towers look down on him. When he arrives at the tower of Astrology, he looks up to the sky with a pleading look. He looks utterly dishevelled, thick sweat causing his stringy hair to cling to his face. He raises a fist to knock, but the door flies open. Beyond, Ludo Discognia, is green eyes flaring, looks at Slade like prey. A wide smile breaks onto his face.
They sit in the very dining room where Ludo first revealed himself. Lord Slade, sitting at the far end, keeps glancing at the portrait of Ludos wife on the wall behind him. He cannot tear his eyes away from her sympathetic gaze.
“You seem stressed, my friend. Is magic work really so difficult?”
Slade is distracted, but his attention turns to Discognia. He cannot help but notice how the marquesss knife cuts through steak effortlessly, like a tiger claw would carve flesh. Realising it has been quiet for too long, he looks quickly at Ludo.
“Oh. Oh… yes. It c- cant be qu-quite troubling.”
Looking at his food, Ludo replies as if nothing is amiss. “I do not envy you, my friend Slade. All sorts of trouble can be caused by sorcery. You know I hear tale from Boruntun of a shapeshifter. Isn’t that a troubling thought.”
His green eyes pierce Lord Slade. The gaze frightens the lord so much he drops his knife which clatters on the plate. Slade hears his heartbeat as if it were located between his ears.
“M.. my… my lord… M- Marquess Discognia… th- there is s- something I need to t- t-” he gags on his own tongue, as if choking back tears. Ludo stands up calmly from his chair and strides across the room. Slade leans away from the marquess gets close. He screws his eyes shut and says quickly under his breath “Divine Dukes please forgive me..!” He jumps as the Marquess places a hand softly on his shoulder.
“Come now, Slade, we are friends, aren’t we? What is on your mind?” Ludo looks down at his guest with hollow compassion. Slade opens his eyes and looks up at him. For just a moment, Slade swears he sees a sillhouette of something not quite human. He very nearly faints.
“I- it.. he’s… he’s come back… it’s…”
Discognia’s head turns, his compassion falling, his mouth a straight line.
“Where is he.”
Slade gasps and stutters.
“Speak!”
“A- a- at the tower… h- he’s waiting for m- me.”
“How many.”
“J- j- just him. H- he has the r- room on the 6th f- floor.”
Ludo pauses, looking with contempt at the sniveling lord. Slade mutters a hundred prayers under his breath.
“You have done well, Slade. Pray not for forgiveness. You are righting a wrong centuries old. Now do entertain yourself. I won’t be a moment.”
When Slade is coherent enough to look back at the marquess, he finds himself completely alone.