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Post by exile on Feb 3, 2008 17:01:26 GMT -5
”I was refused by master Macrae at the Civic Festhall.” Hadrian sat with his back against the cold stone wall, his arms lying casually upon his knees, in the utter darkness of his master’s chamber.
His words were met with a gravelly laugh that broke down into horrible fits of coughing. ”Politics,” a voice managed at last. ”Such hubris, and all for what? They scurry about like ants with their plans and ambitions when in the end all comes to naught. Very well, boy. I had thought such nonsense might transpire and I have a contingency.”
There was a rustling in the gloom and Hadrian felt a sealed scroll being placed into his hands by wizened fingers.
”Return to the house of the foolish sensates, and present this missive along with the token I imparted to you at the office of the treasurer. They will see that you are suitably remunerated.”
Hadrian rose to leave wordlessly, the parchment tucked in to his robes.
”Prepare yourself, boy.” The aasimar paused with his hands on the banister of the steep stairwell. ”You’re going home.”
”Ho-“ he began, but was cut off almost immediately.
”It will be clear soon enough. Come back when you are ready.”
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