Fifty Seven
Plantagenet Family Estate, Noble District, Myst City
In the banquet hall of Plantagenet Manor, the largest in Myst City's Noble District, a sinister council met.
The Lord of the Manor Geoffrey Plantagenet sat at the head of a sprawling long dinner table tended to by servants and maids fluttering about the room.
His purple tunic with pearl buttons shimmered in the dancing fire of the chandelier candles.
His thinning hair was concealed under a fine silk coif, his beard grown and decorated to extravagant proportions to compensate.
He munched loudly on a haunch of lamb, careless of the disgusted looks of his servants.
There also sat Cesare Borgia from the second-most wealthy noble family in Myst City. His fortune built on the supply of military arms to whoever pitched him the largest sum. Despite fueling bloodshed, he himself had never been close to a battlefield.
He had even on occasion sold weapons to The Demonic Legion, under the table obviously.
He donned an emblazoned surcoat and gemmed hose with a deep brimmed feather hat, all extravagantly dyed in his favorite dragon's-heart purple. So called for the insane rarity of the pigment painstakingly scraped together with materials from each corner of Turbulus.
Across from him on the other side of a stuffed goose á l'orange sat Lorenzo Medici, master of the city's treasuries.
With a gemmed ring on every finger and custom-made fitted robe and silk coif emblazoned with a yellow shield, himself never seeing battle either.
Beside him slouched in his high-back chair was Judd Medici, a weasel of a man and currently scorned by his father.
The First Cleric call to conscription and King Pious' decree had irked them. All attempts of theirs to shirk off duty with sprained ankles and bone spurs had ultimately failed.
Pious' accursed Chronicler had been there to heal the conditions, much to their chagrin.
The nobles had no problem with warfare, the Borgias even profited from it, but as long as it was just commoners on the battlefield, they could watch comfortably from their balconies.
In fact, Judd Medici didn't even cut his own steak, his servants would pre-slice it for him and when he was in a particularly lazy mood, he would order them to feed it to him.
Lorenzo looked down in disgust at his son. "You have one job, just one!" he bellowed.
Judd rolled his eyes. "Yes, guard the family interests," he moaned.
Lorenzo banged the table, startling his lazy son. "Sit up, boy!"
"You can't talk to me like that, I'm royal advisor to the king, I'm..." Judd protested.
Lorenzo snarled scaring his son rigid. "You are nothing. I paid your way into that post; I expect a return on investment."
Plantagenet agreed. "We don't need our sons out there with riff-raff, killing each other with Borgia's weapons."
Borgia smirked.
The table was filled with the finest foods, fresh bread, prime mutton, cheese from the southern townships, Sunrise Sol Lumiere wine. Truly, a feast for kings, the nobles imagined themselves kings more often than they would care to admit.
But one man stood in their way- King Pious, a stubborn old fool that was not fit to rule, obsessed with a glorious golden age of history, totally out of touch.
A nearby maid fluttered over to Judd Medici to help him gather his spilled cutlery, coddling him like an overgrown child.
Lorenzo Medici groaned in disgust at his man-child of a son.
"I have an old contact of mine from back in the day that agreed to meet with us to discuss a..." Cesare Borgia exchanged looks with his co-conspirators. "...mutually beneficial agreement."
Plantagenet clapped his hands as the doors opened from the study.
A limp arm slumped into the room, a freshly slain maid.
The Demon of Contracts, Belphagor kicked his way past the corpse he had just slain out of boredom.
The nobles gasped, but the scaly demon smirked back at them, licking the blood off his talons in a mockery of savoring their kingly banquet.
"So, what can I do for you this evening, gentleman?" Belphagor strutted in, constantly checking a pocket watch in his hand. "Soon Umbra, soon"
"We discussed terms earlier. To spare the noble district should war come to our doors," Borgia reminded the wry demon.
Belphagor cocked his head and hung the chained watch from one of his horns. "So, you want a balcony seat to your city burning?" he clicked his tongue. "I don't know, purple fire spreads pretty fast, they say."
Borgia forced an inviting smile, knowing Belphagor was taunting him. "Yes, if you would be so kind as to not target the Nobles district during your Demonic Legion's inevitable rampage."
Belphagor stook his finger. "And the cost?"
Lorenzo stood up. "Take Judd's soul!" pulling his son to his feet.
Judd panicked, pleading with his father.
"Be a good boy and go with the nice salesman," Lorenzo shoved his son forward, who instantly collapsed to his knees.
Belphagor scoffed. "Not interested in the little worm."
The alarm on his watch chimed. It was time to collect his debt in The Lava Fields.
"I'll be in touch. I have an important errand to run," Belphagor took a deep breath and launched purple fire at his feet, erupting in a pillar of sulphur and brimstone, his little shortcut around Turbulus.
The smoke cleared and the demon was gone, his insignia stamp was burned into the marble floor.
The nobles looked at each other. "What do we do now?"