The Minister moved with mincing steps that played light staccato tunes on the keep floor. Every step was calculated in a way that made him out as a beast approximating a human's behavior. The pumice stone perpetually ran tight around his pale bald skull.

His dark grey robe hung around him unflatteringly, it nearly swallowed him. The emblazoned symbol of the ministry was the only bright thing about the man. A crimson circle containing intersecting lines, the tips of those lines curling around. The ceiling was far overhead, giving the halls of the keep an orchestral noise when they were densely packed.

The King's audience room was marked by two immense golden doors, coated with meticulous etchings. As the Minister motioned for the doors to be opened, the violently gold war scene was split in twain, a general riding his warhorse cordoned into halves. Minister Corrum took his bizarre stride through the entrance, carefully he made the way toward the throne. The room was uncomfortably bare, only the guardsmen standing abreast on either side and the simple throne occupied the air. There were no pillars, basque tiles, or commissioned portraits. The space was a shocking jab of simplicity compared to the remainder of the keep beyond the doors.

The Minister's pallid face raised two slate eyes to meet the King’s lazy glance. The Ruler of Malamus obviously wore the finest of clothes, yet never seemed to wear them well. He didn't look to be the most notable of humans, blond hair but muted blonde, green eyed but not strikingly so. He had small features, his smile or frown did not inspire the emotions it would have if it had come from many others. His existence was unremarkable, save that he ran the largest Kingdom on the Continent.

“Corrum, I am pleased to see you, we were just discussing the work of the shipwrights. They require your assistance with some coating you fashioned for them. It looks as though it’s been used up rather quick. It must be serving them well.”

Corrum curtsied just to the line of good taste, not too formal as to feel lesser, but enough so it would not raise issue,

“I will certainly have my acolytes address their needs, but I come to you with a need of my own, King Gallan.”

The King adjusted the Radanth crown, it never rested flush against his head. Its weight shifted forwards or backwards perpetually.

“If it is within my power and I deem it necessary, then it shall be done.”

Corrum inched closer toward the Throne until he was but a few meters away.

“Well my King, everything is within your power is it not? That is why they call you as such, the heavens have a holy union with the man that wears that crown. You are the mouthpiece of righteousness.”

The King perked up at this,

“Well of course I am Minister, I have those same thoughts clear as day. I do not need you to articulate them.” His bravado was beginning to inflate the echoing room.

Corrum’s lips turned upwards into what could be called a smile,

“Precisely my King, which is why I raise the issue that the Winding Cells are close to empty. I simply cannot continue to make discoveries such as the coating for the hulls without proper implements of study.”

The King’s brow furrowed deeply.

“I do not understand why you need such numbers in order to make these discoveries. What do these vagrants have to do with creating seals for boat hulls, or crafting new chemicals?”

The Minister inhaled slowly through his nose,

“My dear ruler, none of these innovations could have been made without many failures, hundreds of trials until the proper solution is plucked from our stream of efforts.” Minister Corrum inched closer and closer until he was almost at an inappropriate proximity with the King. “You have to understand that science is a starving beast, it is quite impossible to fill its stomach. Progress may be the only thing to satiate it, and to slake its thirst, discoveries made at every turn."

The King's discomfort was palpable, he radiated emotions in a way unbecoming of a King.

“What would you have me do Corrum? I can’t rightly hope that there is more crime so I may throw more men and women into the Winding Cells. Would you wish me to simply grab people from their beds so we can draft some new plans for the furnace?” The King paused as if unsure of this very moment, unsure of what his power was. He eventually broke the silence again,

“Do you really deem it necessary to have subjects for such things? What else could you possibly be concerning yourself with that would require such numbers?” Corrum’s pumice headwear raised slightly with his brow at this question. He raised his arm and moved all the way toward the King, up the narrow stairs to the throne. The Guardsmen made a metallic shift as they mobilized toward the throne, ready to prevent such disrespect. Yet, the King raised his hand absentmindedly and they returned to their station. Corrum placed his arm directly on the King of Malamus’ shoulder,

“My Ruler please be still, I would never ask something of you that was not entirely necessary to our cause. I simply need a few more men; Elisus, common vagrants, rapists. The like of which would be made better by forwarding the progress of our Kingdom.” Minister Corrum took several steps backwards, his offbeat steps ringing off the golden stair.

“Yes… of course Minister, after all, science is the only way forward. You did say that didn’t you?”

“More or less, yes.”

“Yes, Minister, well uh- well I would like some peace now.”

“Of course, my King.” Another meticulously crafted curtsy. The grating patter of the Minister's feet lingered on until the war-scaped golden door was opened and closed.

The lack of voices now gave the air a sheen of tension. The light filtered in from plain windows far above, the sun lightly illuminating Gallan’s hair. Guardsmen shifted slowly with some forced composure. If closely observed, one could see the King's hands, carefully manicured, quivering between the sunbeams.