Friday, April 29, 2011

We Were Left Off The List Too

Fulguralis jumped back as another carriage rumbled by. Its swift passage afforded him only the briefest of glances inside, but it appeared as crowded as all the rest had been. Packed inside were women wearing extremely large and somewhat flamboyant hats alongside stoic men dressed formally in either uniform or tuxedo. But where were they all off to? It seemed that there was some sort of party and the Warlock hadn't been invited.

You'd think with my reputation, I'd be a guest of honor, he thought to himself. He was, after all, exalted with all of the most important factions. They must be afraid that my demons will make a scene again. His mind wandered back to the last party he had attended. A stupid grin spread slowly across his face.

"What are you smiling about?" his wife asked, stepping up beside him.

She had just exited from the smithy, having had her sword sharpened and some dents worked out of her armor. Fresh from the foundry, it positively gleamed in the sunlight, which was a far cry away from the state with which it entered. It had been a rough couple of weeks for their crew.

Another carriage rumbled by. Fuubaar gazed after it wistfully. She'd better not ask me to go. Even if I had been invited, there are things to be killed! We don't have time for a fancy party. The thought of dressing up sent a shudder through the Warlock.

"Nothing at all," Fulguralis answered finally. "Just some pleasant memories."

"You were thinking about that party weren't you?" Fuubaar accused.

Fulguralis grinned sheepishly in reply. "Well, we were the life of the party."

"Only because I had to raise half of them," Fuubaar noted.

The Warlock shrugged. "Whatever works."

The next carriage was drawn by white stallions and was quite ornate. Surely someone important was contained within. Curtains, however, obscured the windows.

"What's the occasion?" Fulguralis wondered aloud.

"I heard something about a royal wedding while I was in the armory."

"You mean Varian is getting hitched again?" Fulguralis's eyebrows shot skyward. "Didn't work out for the poor guy so well the last time."

"Doubt it," Fuubaar said. "Maybe his son or something."

"Isn't he too young?"

Fuubaar shrugged. "Who knows with these royals? They do all sorts of silly things." She paused. "But they do throw a helluva party."

Fulguralis nodded sagely as if a great truth had been spoken.

They both watched another carriage rumbled past. Thoughts of blood and sweat shed on the front rose to the Warlock's mind. As much as he hated parties, there was something to be said about a good mug of ale and a bit of relaxation.

Fuubaar poked him out of his reverie. "Bah, let them have their fancy parties. Let's go grab a pint at the pub and then go kill things."

Fulguralis beamed at his wife. "I love you, honey."

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