There were few things which the Lord-Archon knew that could rouse him from his ennui and bloodshed was among them. The area of the hall that had been where the dancers performed was now cleared for a very different dance, one of death was about to begin.

Dragged before him in chains were a gaggle of wretched aliens that bore the defiant attitudes of those not accustomed to being slaves, not that they would ever be of course. They were small, hunch backed, flat faced, fang mawed, yellow-green skinned creatures called Griibrs which had long been considered by the Alfarin as pests to be exterminated for the things were known to be far too unreliable to work as slaves.

Collars of dark metal surrounded the scrawny necks of the creatures, their large, bulbous eyes shifted about towards the Alfarin, the nostrils of the things which were located between their eyes sniffed the air in caution as they were filled with fear that masked their hostility and herding them forward were four burly black armored warriors. Close to the Lord-Archon, he could sense the readiness in the mind of his personal guard; The Oathsworn who tightened the grips on their weapons with more than a few already making mental calculations on the time it would take for a Griibr to dash towards their liege.

From the crowd then came a single, shapely figure clad as well in armor but one of dark red trimmed with iron grey. Like many of the Myrak-Alfarin, she was a pale skinned, black haired being but one who bore a classical beauty, with the high cheekbones and facial structure expected of a highborn aristocrat. The flesh around her eyes had been adorned with black make-up while her dark hair had been done into a single tail that crested upwards before flowing back down while adorned with several pieces of bright golden jewelry.

"My Dread Sovereign" courteously spoke the one known as Lady Zhelanria, Matriarch of the House of Arrenak, Hierarch of the Tempest Armada, The Slaughterer of the Sogtrosians, The Abductor of Arida and most importantly, His Hand. Kneeling before him in utter obedience and reverence, her entourage did likewise with the exception of the handlers of the captives who bowed their heads to honor him.

"My Lady Zhelanria" spoke the Lord-Archon with a tone of genuine respect as he gently stood up and casually strode towards her for the Hierarch had long been one of his most trusted and competent military leaders, hence her position as His Hand. Two his Oathsworn guards accompanied him by his sides, the Lord-Archon's robes trailed behind him as he stepped upon the stone floor where the dancers had recently performed and the nearby captive Griibrs were dragged to the sides like disobedient pets.

When Naranthir passed between the captives, the nearest of them noticed the distraction of its handler of whom was bowing in respect and it attempted to break free by yanking at its chains but the mind of the Lord-Archon was much faster. With but a mere thought, the creature suddenly shrieked in pain as all of its fingers were telekinetically twisted into painful angles while Naranthir perfectly maintained his dignified saunter towards His Hand.

Without missing a beat, he soon stood in front of the still kneeling Hierarch who looked up to meet his gaze and she rose up to her feet before offering him her gauntleted right hand. Taking the proffered extremity, the Lord-Archon kissed the cold, armored knuckles of the Hierarch, a reminder to the others of the Gloaming Court of his favor towards the House of Arrenak.

"What do you offer us today?" asked Naranthir with a slight smile that spoke of warmth and familiarity.

"A spectacle of violence, my sovereign, an execution" smiled Lady Zhelanria who then looked to the captives. "An unregistered ship filled with the vermin had been apprehended as of yesterday. The vessel's crew and captain have been given the choice to be sent to Kharkan or to be enslaved as penance, but the Griibrs I believe would be better put to use, to amuse you, my lord".

"You are correct" smiled Naranthir for there were few individuals within his Court who he could confide to about his... disquiet and Zhelanria was among them. Jealously and displeasure could be felt within the hearts and minds of some of his guests who immediately began plotting ways to slander or to outshine the Hierarch and among those inclined to the latter, they knew that only a great display of utter destruction would need to be provided for the Lord-Archon.

Turning his gaze towards one of his guards, Naranthir met the masked visage of one of his senior Oathsworn guards, a warrior name Khorvol who was dressed in loose, black robes with an armored chest plate, a hood covering the top of his head and his face was protected by a crystalline visor of seemingly opaque dark golden material. A staff with two heavy blunt heads, one on each side was clutched in his and the Lord-Archon knew full well that the warrior could use those to deadly effect against any who dared to cause harm to the Master of the Gloaming Court.

"Oathsworn Khorvol" quietly spoke Naranthir who could sense the complete and utter obedience mixed with reverence within the mind of the bodyguard which was expected for the Lord-Archon was quite thorough in completely dominating the will of all his household thralls. "Is there not a new recruit among your ranks?"

"There is, my master" replied the senior Oathsworn who bowed his head and thudded his black gloved right fist over the left side of his chest. "Initiate Idranya! Step forward!"

Immediately afterwards, another black robed Oathsworn then stepped forward from among those who had been posted along the western side of the hall; Naranthir could sense this young guard's discomfort at suddenly becoming the center of attention for the eyes of many Alfarin were now focused upon her. Moving towards them, the newest member of his Oathsworn who soon came within being a meter away from his personage and she knelt before him in subservience.

"Rise and amuse us" commanded Naranthir who then stepped aside and so too did the two guards who accompanied him.

"Your will be done, my master" softly replied the Oathsworn recruit who then moved forward towards the space where the dance had been performed, her gloved hands reaching for her a weapon, a curved, single edged sword forged from a dark metal that superficially resembled obsidian of which was etched along both sides of its center with glowing sigils of crimson light.

The captives were then released as their handlers stepped aside and slaves belonging to Zhelanria came forth and tossed crude weapons, blades, spears and bludgeons onto the floor. The Griibrs were quick to grab the weapons as they turned their attention to the young Oathsworn guard who was now a mere few meters away from them while the other guards stood ready in the event any tried to flee.

Filled with eager anticipation, the Lord-Archon held the utmost of confidence for this young recruit as the eyes of the Gloaming Court also watched with mounting excitement at the performance that would begin.