***
Azrael kept the alcohol coming, deftly adding a crushed dried herb to the bottom of Glint’s glass every time he refilled it. His movements were so fast and natural that they went unnoticed in the flickering shadows cast by the candles in the room. Those were the only forms of lighting available in the room, for the windows were shuttered.
The herb Azrael added was little known, difficult to taste or smell. Thus even under scrutiny he could just pretend the glass was simply dirty, even if the now drunk Alfjötr noticed anything suspicious. The man was still part of a guild after all, and not to be trifled with. At least, thought Azrael to himself, not too much.
Stepping behind the two, now sure that the herb had accomplished its desired effects by the flush on Glint’s face, and reassuring himself that Alfjötr had a few glasses too many, Azrael blew out the green candle and replaced it with a crimson one. The effect was beautiful, he noted, for it filled the room with a ruby like tint, as well as the sweet scent of roses.
With that, and the guests being done with dinner of course, Azrael gathered Glint’s single plate and Alfjoetr’s many and placed them upon his left palm neatly. He caught Glint’s eye and gave him one massive, deliberate wink before stepping out of the room. The boy’s mood had been progressively getting worse as the night wore on, Azrael knew. It was time for him to let his frustrations out.
This would be the fruition to Azrael’s month long plan. Alfjötr and Glint would dance to his tunes, knowing nothing at all. The necromancer started humming to himself as he walked the corridor to the now empty kitchen. Everyone but for him and Tim was far away by now.
Ah, even the latter’s music was reaching a violent climax, it seemed.