The seven individuals walked up to the center from the enemy's side. The first of these was King Veynar Molokh of Molowisk, a heavyset man with soft features that were on clear display, showing his years of living in indulgence.
By now, Fay and the rest knew that the king was fat and loved to wear the best of clothes, rumors they heard from those that used to live in his city.
Even now, in this meeting, he wore silk robes of the finest caliber, lined with layers of gold embroidery and adorned with jewels that reflected the light.
He looked a little drunk. Nahrin could smell the scent of wine on the man as he moved with the air of someone who believed comfort was his birthright a man who had lived his life to its fullest at the expense of not only his people but also the slaves he had forcefully taken.
Beside him were two of his commanders, forgettable men in Fay's eyes, for he hated the king and all those who followed him. His attention shifted instead to the next figure.
