Lokiviria bowed low, his reverence for his mentor genuine and deep.
"Come in."
When Lokiviria stepped into the chamber, the first thing that hit him was the smell. The room was teeming with crawling things. The Clown sat at a round table, the surface cluttered with dissected corpses—some of them distinctly insectoid.
"You are here because you are confused?"
The Clown didn't look up. He already knew exactly what Lokiviria wanted to ask. He had been listening to the entire war council.
"Yes, Mentor. This disciple has many doubts."
Lokiviria performed the formal disciple's salute. This was his palace, his kingdom, but in front of the Clown, he was a student again. He didn't dare show arrogance.
He had come not just for himself, but on behalf of the other Lords. They were desperate to know the Clown's opinion on their grand plan.
"Speak."
The Clown set down his scalpel and gestured for Lokiviria to sit.
