I need to get back to the orc and the reporter, soon. These two are horrible.
“Beef ribs it is, then,” Firebrand said, as a servant wheeled in a cart. Seeing Razor-Claw’s eyes linger on her tense form, the mage smirked. “Business and lunch before pleasure, I think. We have a schedule.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Razor-Claw dragged his eyes away from the girl, who promptly left the room. “You gonna start with a name?”
“Better than that.” The Warmage summoned an image ball, showing the image of an graying, bitter-looking woman. “This is Senior Warmage Festering Lacewing of the First Usurpation. My second-in-command, but you knew that already.”
“The Town-burner? Oh, yeah, I know her. She’d burn anybody who looked at her funny. Slowly. So why the Hell do you want her dead? She was a big reason why you kicked our asses.”
“That’s the problem.” Firebrand held out his hand, and a drink drifted into it. “Lacewing’s perfect for clearing land for settlement, but we’re starting a different campaign soon. One where I want to keep too many towns from being burned down.”
“Why?”
“Because squeezing them to death instead is more profitable,” Firebrand grinned. “More fun that way, too.”
This sounds like a real “rooting for injuries” moment.
Absolutely.