With the soft jangling of keys wafting before him, the Butler inspected the work of the servants. The stage had been cleared, all signs of his Lord's handiwork had been swept away; to where, he had no idea. He trusted that the maids had an suitable place to dispose of the remains of the broken crockery and glass.
The table and shelves had been reset, ready for the moment when Maladil relived again the torment of his drunken rage and his defiance of the Valar. As it had been, night after night, through the long years.
"Hmmmmm, we shall have to restock soon. Our supplies of breakables are running low." The Butler expected another delivery soon though, and hopefully, this would be the last. Soon, if all went well, Lord Maladil, and all who served him, would be free of their ghostly charade. Soon, hopefully, The Oath of Maladil would be fulfilled.
[ November 17, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]
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