"We're assembled here this evening in tribute to the late Lord Roman Crozier; the second son of Duke Agrobeth. A beloved son, a faithful brother, a tremendous pal, and an honest lad to the cartel."
Dominus felt caged inside a crate. His eyes lingered snugly, he'd regained consciousness a moment ago. Oddly enough, he felt no nuisance. No distress. Just flimsy.
Is this what death feels like? Free from miseries?
The voice uttered furthermore;
"An enormous cohort was forfeited to the hands of rum. We pray that his crux meets the ocean of heaven's treasure."
Dominus attempted to tote, but the restrictions of the box incapacitated him. His hand reached forth as he motioned to get the obstacle off his alley. He was thirsty… he ought to quench it. He began scrounging his neck.
