There were a great many things in this world that Laedio thoroughly enjoyed. He liked the soft, desperate sound of a woman's moaning in his ear after a long night, just as he liked the steady, rich music of a silver pitcher pouring spiced wine until a cup was filled to the brim.
But above all else, better than women and wine combined, was the fierce pride of a job well-fucking done.
He looked around the grand hall. The old, gloomy grey walls of the Oizenian ancestral seat appeared a sight more dandy now that they were draped in the golden falcon of Yarzat and the stark black-and-white banners of the iron legions. Laedio hadn't possessed the good fortune to gaze upon the hall back when the Oizenian prince last sat upon the high chairs, before he was so kindly and abruptly dislocated from his power, but it wasn't a long shot to guess the place looked much improved.
