‘Well? What are you going to do about it Manx? I paid good money, you made guarantees!’ the Govenor spits exasperated.
He placed the golden skull on the table, as if that was an answer. An end to the discussion.
A chime sounds. It comes from the skull. Eyes fall to it as smoke begins to billow from the eyes.
‘You seek to poison me! GUARDS!’ A simple shake of the head.
The skull lifts slowly as the smoke gathers, gains form, twisting and rolling into the shape of a man. Not a man; taller with exagerated proportions; a childrens stick figure drawing made real.
It chitters, a brushing sound – something heard in the darkness – the unfamiliar. Towering over the the Govenor, tendrils of smoke reach out, embracing and coiling round the bloated man. The golden skull tilts to the side, a cainine or felid examining it’s prey.
The Govenor screams.
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