just a couple of short ones today. work isn't very conductive to writing this week, but i've got some better stuff in store.

Jag was well dressed for a Goryn; his divided robes were tied off around his legs in what Gorynmen referred to as ‘city fashion’ and he had woven his long hair into a crown on his head. This was formality approaching ritual purpose for a Goryn. Hitek Nom swallowed in a bone-dry throat as he tried to meet the tall man’s steely gaze. Jag reached into the folds of his robes and produced a small glass vial, loosely filled with a greyish ash-like powder. Hitek Nom flushed a shade of pale green that clashed horribly with his trousers.

“My suzerain was most pleased when I told him of our deal, little Nom. He laughed boisterously when he called me Jag Surif. Now my suzerain rages like coastal storms. When he calls me Jag Surif, I hear in his voice that I am blamed for our shame. And now I am here… a merchant like you, little Nom, to sell that blame for its rightful price.”

Hitek Nom sat down as the Goryn finished. He reached for a drink of tea but his hands shook so much that he nearly dropped the cup twice and spilled most of the contents onto his desk. He abandoned that venture. He gestured randomly with his hands, looking wildly about the room, but all the while Jag held him in a steady, level measure.

“What is the matter, little Nom? Have you finally lost the power to speak; have your lies robbed you of your talents?”

Hitek Nom swallowed hard on the bile that rose in the back of his throat. His entire mouth burned as his voice croaked before he finally mastered it. “Jag Surif, Jag Surif there is no need for this. No need for you to come all this way. I… I assure you if goods our traders sold you were defective-”

“Five thousand arms for the warriors of my suzerain. In return, five hulls loaded with gold and craftswork of my people. And highest price of all, little Nom, was agreeing to your ‘monopoly’.” Jag sneered the last word with a sarcastic hatred. “Five ships came. One brought your arms,” his face impassive, his voice mild, Jag hurled the flask of ash onto Hitek Nom’s desk. The powder drifted up in a lazy cloud, sizzling and smouldering when it settled into the lamp globe. Hitek Nom covered his wide nose and mouth with his hands. “Four brought more lying, cheating, thieving Noms like you.”

Terror had already frozen Hitek Nom before the huge man reached into his robes again, yet he managed to find his voice one more time. “A- a most unfortunate accident, Jag Surif! The humidity of your isles, perhaps a storm during the crossing… the powder was contaminated with salt! We will be happy to send our next ship loaded with more!”

“There will be no ‘next ship’, Hitek.” Jag withdrew a clenched fist from his robe and then opened it, dropping the contents onto the ornate rug of Gojo Noma Import/Export Office 3. Terror now loosened Hitek Nom, and the little strength left to him was devoted to keeping his bowels closed. The small, leathery purses that littered the fine rug each bore the distinctive curly patch of hair that was so vulgarly known as a ‘Nom’s Beard’.

A pathetic snivelling escaped Hitek Nom as the Goryn advanced towards him slowly, patient as a glacier. Hitek moaned in shame as he realized that was not all that escaped him, and the last of his strength had faded.