[color=#e3e0e0][center][b][h3]Promien The Rotting[/h3][/b][/center][/color]
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[b]Location:[/b] The Blasted Castle || [b]Time:[/b] Morning || [b]Interactions:[/b] Anyone Nearby
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Promien scratched at his face languidly as he took his seat at the table, grunting out of what seemed to be exertion as he did so. A sign that he had either been up late performing some ritual the night before, thus causing some manner of increased physical strain, or that'd he'd simply tired himself out while walking the fortresses labyrinthine hallways. Whatever the case, he was here, and taking full advantage of this moment of solace before the others arrived and disrupted his peace with their plans of world domination, the subjugation of the masses, or whatever other half-cocked scheme they'd come up with to spite the lands beyond this time.

And that wasn't even mentioning the bickering or grandstanding that was sure to follow, the very thought of which [i]almost[/i] made him want to fling himself off of the nearest balcony.

Almost.

[b]Sighing, he motioned for one of his skeletal servants to go fetch him a cup of tea.[/b] What they lacked in regards to combat, especially when pitted against loincloth sporting barbarians with a fetish for ridiculously large hammers, skeletons more than made up for by providing a cost effective source of menial labor.