Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25146201-20140108121051/@comment-12599067-20140112133503

Sarjaa paced back and forth, paying little attention to the chatter of the healers or to the cold night wind that blew through the open window, trying to plot his nect move. The healers had confirmed he was ill, (although he originally suspected poisoning) but the ailment was like nothing they had ever seen. Of course, Sarjaa knew exactly who was behind this. The banished prince had gotten the last laugh... for now.

Sarjaa sat on his bed, still drowning out the healers, and thought in silence. He couldn't send any of his own forces without risking a civil war, but on the other hand, sellswords were unpredictable and easily swayed. He drummed his fingers on a nearby end table, weighing his options. Finally, he had a solution.

"Kayya!" he barked, startling the mages. The group parted as a younger Redguard lass brushed past the crowd of healers, standing to attention at Sarjaa's bedside. "Tell the jailor to take the day off. I need to see a prisoner, and if there if anyone interrupts I will be sure to remove their head from their shoulders. Clear?" he asked, turning his attention back to the healer, who simply nodded and set off down the corridor.

Sarjaa dismissed the rest of the healers and leaned back onto the bed, already formulating a plan. Finally, having formed a plot to kill the son of Sarkin, he leaned back and slept for the rest of the night, the idea of revenge granting him a dreamless slumber.