>Kankri: Bow Down
You’d had better. You know what’s good for you.
That is to say, you’ve calculated out these long odds and they aren’t going to be particularly long anymore if you don’t swallow what pride you forgot was there for this.
The Empress herself, in the flesh. So close as to feel the power radiating off of her very skin. Ringing her, trolls in cool tones wearing masquerade masks that smiled lifelessly from every corner of the room.
How exactly were you supposed to know that the house you inherited when Lord Albrit made an arse of himself and needed to be taught a lesson was going to have a magic mirror in it? And how were you supposed to know that rat bastard Gervas Alarrd was going to rat you out for having it without having gone through the proper channels? And HOW in heaven’s name were YOU supposed to know that the gentry would find the prospect of the Lucky Lowblood having an unspeakably precious magical item SO hilarious they would induct you into their Empress led secret members clubcult JUST for a good laugh?
This was really not where you expected moving house to take you.
(Frankly you haven’t expected a single thing about your ascent. As soon as they sold you off as deckhand for that highblood privateer vessel your entire life has been running out of your hands so hard and fast you have rope burns from hanging on.
Most trolls wouldn’t make it as far up as you; Privateer Kankri Vantas, Rust Terror and pet of the court. Most trolls wouldn’t have put themselves through the kind of rigors it took to maintain this, day after day with no end in sight. Some trolls, you might say, had some dignity.
Not this troll. Not Kankri Vantas.)
On cue you bow lower still, lips to the stone she walks on. Her smile sharpens.
Your name is Kankri Vantas and you are the lapdog of the Empire.
(Now with shiny new cult membership and fancy magic mirror.
Suck it, Gervas.)
