Lyric The Fair

Groom of the Stool

The lack of personal space was atrocious, and the act was humiliating, despite the notoriety, but it was the smell that forced him to truly wish death on this man. However, Torvir had adopted a lack of cleanliness to similarly repulse the man. His hair hung in strange, twisted bits of greasy twine, pointing in every direction to label him insane. His eyes would often bulge out of his face, big, round, white orbs of self-hatred and annoyance. His skin was dirty, coated in a layer of filth that had once made even himself retch but now, was part of his being. His clothes hung from his bony frame in tattered, and brown with filth. He was a walking shit pile, especially now, as he stood leaned over, with a literal pile of the King's shit in his hand.

The sigh that escaped his throat was not only to express his distaste for his current situation but to also allow his longs to function for a moment. He drew the air back in and stifled a gag as he lifted the soiled paper from the stool. As soon as his hand left the area, another round of excrement blasted its way into the hollowed chair. The echoing of the thunder was far louder than anything the clouds themselves could produce but this time, the smell brought a wicked smile to Torvir's face. Metallic and warm, the smell quickly overtook that of the previous rounds of movement and filled the room with the scent of sweet death.

Torvir bent with fresh paper and cleared the cheeks of the man that sat, holding his stomach and groaning with sickened passion. This time, the paper came away red and angry. Torvir quickly replaced his smile with a look of worry and concern. "M'lord, you bleed again." He said with mock concern.

The King gave a sorrowful nod. "I fear it may never stop, Torvir. Do you have more of the tonic? It does help the pain."

"Once we get you to bed, sire, the tonic shall be yours." With that the King finished his business, allowing Torvir to complete his repulsive task once more that day. Getting the robust man tucked into his lush bed was more strenuous than Torvir would have liked. He had assumed that the portly man would have shed some weight by this point but he still managed to be dense and substantial. He had downed the tonic with renewed vigor before resting his eyes and beginning a tortured sleep. Torvir knew that this would be his last, every breath coming in shaky, stuttering gasps. However, the degenerate sorcerer stayed perched atop his wooden chair until a single line of crimson life trickled down from the corner of the royalist's cracked lips.

He made his way down through the castle and slipped silently into the cool evening air, pointing his rather large nose in the direction of the Ishkatell tower. The tower was said to rise above even the tallest of mountains, piercing the sky with its pointed roof and spear-laden balconies. Each landing found itself surrounded by pikes and loaded down with large cauldrons meant to keep hot oil for defense. It was a magnificent structure, even he had to agree, and soon it would become the most feared symbol in the world. At least if he had his way.

Ishkatell was a proud but dark city, ruled by the most foolish of kings, King Reynold. His reign had been uneventful until he decided to end the life of his beloved Queen Veena for her inability to produce an heir. Of course, that was all for show as he never slept in the same bed as the Queen. The only reason he had married the woman was to keep up appearances and distract from his rather vast taste in men. It sickened Torvir every time he found a new naked male in the King's bed. He was no prudish man himself but, he could only imagine the various diseases the King had come in contact with. Honestly, he didn't even need to imagine as the King had come to him several times to cure them. He was a filthy, vile man and that was the reason he would ensure a filthy and vile death.

The tonic contained an acid that Torvir had discovered was naturally present in certain algae. He harvested this acid from the algae and shellfish, giving the tonic a slightly fishy odor. This was boosted by Torvir supplying the kitchens with the toxic shellfish for the King's dinner twice a week. The man's internal organs were solely melting and taking the fastest route out of his body. Although this meant Torvir was performing his Groom of the Stool duties quite often, he was happy to see his work in action.