Thread: ATM II RPG
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Old 05-15-2006, 01:45 PM   #9
Anguirel
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Join Date: Mar 2005
Location: The 1590s
Posts: 2,825
Anguirel is a guest of Tom Bombadil.
The Lord Dracomir Malfoidacil, of all the Gondorian envoys, seemed the most at his ease. He knew this place and reacted to it with mild disdain, not psychological bafflement. He was here to carry out his mission to slay Dumbledore...er...get that Potter boy expelled...er, deal with this amusing diplomacy, and he intended to see it through as Malfoy...a Malfoidacil, rather...should, effortlessly and contemptuously.

The moment the ambassadorial party was within Mordor, he had begun to annoy his fellow counsellors by showing off his perfect knowledge of Modern English-as well as the Royal Dispensation he had received to speak it. He made a habit of muttering snide jokes about the other Gondorians to passing Mordorians in a faux-proletarian British Public School accent. He relished the situation to the full-the others, forbidden to consider the language of English, could not lift a finger to stop him lest terrible punishments fall upon them. So he grinned maliciously and swept a hand through his immaculate curtains of white-blond hair as he remarked:

"The old man won't last long, of course. Father always says the King should introduce a policy of euthanasia."

Or:

"Look at that ridiculous Mudblood woman with her bodyguards. Why, at home Crabbe and Goyle would waste them..."

Or:

"That Beauregard thinks he's awfully haute-classe, doesn't he? I'd like to see how he'd react to a quick Confundus Charm..."

...always capping his mot-juste with a glance at the Gondorian in question. However, he was shrewd enough to cultivate the Gondorians too, regarding a mutual loathing of the Mordorians.

"Reeerrly, I say," he said to Beauregard in fine court Sindarin, "is that woman pretending to be some kind of plant? If you ask me, she looks like a gallows."

"Lady Angawen," he'd murmured, with deep concern in his voice, "what is that frightful mish-mash over there? It looks like the leftovers from the last Regal Banquet."

Ah, this was the way the House of Malfoy worked. Sans fois, sans lois. And the Lord Dracomir enjoyed every second of it. He only wished his proud parents, the Lord Luciamir and the Lady Narcissowen could see him at work...

As for the admittedly rather intimidating Ms Martinet, the Lord Dracomir was rather impressed that such an efficient and obstacle-creating civil servant could be born out of the chaotic slum of Mordor that he knew so well. Draco Malfoy quite liked authority figures. And somewhere the repressed soul of Tom Felton developed a small crush.

***

But this aside, there was a challenge to be taken on. Two truths and a lie-a game Tom Felton remembered from his Kensington prep school, and Draco Malfoy from the larks in the Slytherin common room. But he assumed a cold, serious Gondorian exterior to the topic, listening to the other Mordorians and Gondorians, largely in dignified taciturnity, occasionally breaking in to inquisit.

It was Beauregard's turn and he had just stated his three, anodyne choices. The Lord Dracomir decided the most fun course of action would be to completely upstage him. So he coughed, quietly but prominently, and recited, as if it were a solemn poem about broken swords and halflings from some wack dream:

I am the Scion of a Pure Line.
I am the most dangerous entity here.
My hair and my skin are pale.
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