[b]Lord De Gravee
[/b]
The Lord was contemplating the view in the distance, a ghost would occasionally serve him whatever Snazzy is cooking up in the bar. He'd tried over ten different cocktails in the last minute, some tasted like mint, others avocado and Egyptian salt. The Lord leaned on the railing, his legs crossed as he eased his neck to suppress his urges. 

A wave of merry thralls invaded his personal dark lord bubble, he didn't mind. His head in more entertaining sports, hunting. He got off and walked through the balcony into the lobby and by the bar, avoiding contact with the reaper. He levitated in a spooky manner up the stairs and walked to the first floor. Hall of The Lord, it was basically his study, books and Animal portraits. He wouldn't trust taxidermy, something about gypsies curse. 

He sat down behind an ebony desk and wrote two letters, titled 'Hunting Pack'.