Chapter 11: STORMS***
Within the moonlit sanctum of the church, the dim glow of candles cast eerie shadows upon the aged stone walls, accentuating the air of secrecy and malevolence. The high priest of Regon stood, his silhouette a foreboding presence, addressing the fervent trio - Dax, Amon, and Tamacti.
"We stand at the precipice of change, my loyal disciples," the high priest intoned. "Mr. Lu, with his burgeoning influence, poses a threat to our dominion over Lunar City. Regon commands his blasphemous existence be obliterated."
Dax, Amon, and Tamacti exchanged glances, veiled by the darkness of their hoods. Amon stepped forward, his voice measured and grave. "Our esteemed high priest, how shall we carry out this task? Mr. Lu is ensconced within a fortress of guards. A subtle approach is necessary."
"Poison his wine," Tamacti suggested. "He loves it so much; he will never survive that. A method both discreet and deadly. The wine he holds in such reverence shall be his own undoing."
The high priest nodded in approval, a macabre satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
Later, within the church's hallowed halls, Amon stood before an ornate, ancient altar, a facade of devotion. He whispered into a hidden communication device, conspiring with a believer embedded within Mr. Lu's entourage. "(whispering) The wrath of Regon descends upon Mr. Lu. Poison him under the guise of delivering his cherished wine. His blasphemy against our lord must be silenced."
In the heart of the city, a bustling caravan traversed the cobblestone streets, bearing barrels and crates branded as Mr. Lu's precious cargo. The merchant watched with eager anticipation for a wine that had traversed distant lands.
As the containers were opened, a horrifying realization unfurled – they were empty.
"What foul trickery is this? Is this a jest, or something far more sinister?" Mr. Lu seethed with anger.
The servant tasked with overseeing the cargo was immediately held responsible. Mr. Lu fired the servant that very day. "All of you, from today, I don't want to see you around here ever again," he declared. He had lost a fortune; the wine was worth its weight in gold.
Unknown to all, the servant's lateness in carrying out the poisoning and carelessness in watching over the goods he was assigned to deliver had inadvertently foiled the plan set forth by the followers of Regon. The wine remained untainted.
Meanwhile, within a quiet abode not far away, Old Lark sat with a pilfered bottle of that very wine, his eyes alight with wonder as he tasted the exquisite flavor that graced his palate. "I bet Long John and the old boys have never tasted anything this good. Hahaha! Life rewards the crafty," he chuckled, coughing as he saw Hendrix watching him. "I mean the honest and hardworking."
"(whispering to himself) By the heavens, this is a marvel. The taste, the aroma... extraordinary. I shall relish every drop of this rare nectar."
Lost in the pleasures of the stolen wine, he considered sharing a drop or two with Hendrix and Snow. However, his love for wine was too great to be moved by two pleading angelic eyes. He turned and faced the street while sitting on the balcony, enjoying his stolen treasure alone, heedless of Hendrix's innocent anticipation. In a world fraught with shadows and intrigue, moments of pure delight were often selfishly hoarded, even in the heart of an old rogue.
***End of chapter 11.