Chapter Text
“Mi’lord, I don’t think the flowers for the coronation will be enough,” the Flaming Fist said to Gortash from a respectable distance befitting his station.
“Of course, my good man,” he replies with pride, and waves the fellow off towards his master of coin, “Spare no expense, then. Purchase more from the markets. The procession must be as grand as the occasion.”
“It isn’t that, lord Gortash,” the man manages to squeeze out, seemingly out of breath. My, the man was practically wheezing. It was a good thing the Steel Watch was his primary guard now, for these Fists seemed to be unfit if all it took to wind them was a walk up a flight of stairs. He raises his brow curiously towards the Fist and approaches him – the man flinches, then falls to his knees, covering his face. Clearly in reverence to the new Arch Duke, “What is it, then, sir?”
“I… I don’t think there’s enough flowers in all of Baldur’s Gate to mask the smell.” The man manages to stammer, before passing out entirely.