16th of Cylus, 718
Everything had to be perfect.
First the swept the floor with an old broom. When the table was already set, and the few chairs ordered from the foot soldiers were delivered and placed around the round table, the cavern looked so much better. With a wet cloth he’d remove whatever grime could’ve made the old, termite-eaten table even uglier than it was. The chairs were given the same treatment, a rough touch to bring out their most delicate nature. They didn’t look like much, but they were clean enough to kiss the rear of a king - if any kings was stupid enough to wander into this dark cave. The rocky walls lacked sconces, and this was compensated with a few watermelon-scented candles Maws himself had purchased for the occasion. With a match, they were lit and left in the middle of the table. It gave the scene this refinited, aghast sentiment.
After the necessities were complete, it was time to take care of the luxuries. A jug of fresh water was left on the table, atop a wooden tray, and five cups, cleaned and dried by Maws himself, were placed upside down to avoid much from flying within. A wooden bowl was placed nearby, with a collection of apples standing within; golden ones, red ones, and some that doubted whether they wanted to be red or yellow. When they were set, Maws took a step back, and looked at the scene. He’d gape at it for a moment, then approach and try another arrangement, tweaking the setting again and again until the image was worthy of being captured within linen.
Those uninvited to the table would find far less comfort. However, they too would find a keg of fresh water along with some clean mugs, again cleaned by Maws himself, atop a small table. Chairs would not be available to them, nor they’d get to sniff the gentle aroma of watermelons that rose from the table. How he delighted in that smell! Were a string quartet to play a ballad in the depths of the darkness, Maws himself could have swayed in the darkness with the scent, rapt by his deep desire to consume everything.
Perhaps he could consume the whole meeting. Perhaps that is why he took such good care of the scene.
The scene was ready to be witnessed by the eye, and so Maws went out of the cavern and cleaned his throat.
“Excuse me,” he’d say to a distant frame. “The meeting is ready to be held. Could you please let our despot know, as well as everyone else invited? Thank you.”
Maws returned within the cave, and with the candlelight, he’d make sure his suit, and especially his shoes, were as shiny and as impolute as they could be. Of course they were. Maws was always the imagine of perfection, of refinement. No muck ever tarnished his flesh or his attire, and his features were always clean and virginal. His hairs were always soft and well tamed within the ponytail, and his beard… Oh, his beard! It was perfect. Such a pampered man bush he owned, so manly and yet so sweet, like the aristocrat’s young child wrapped in armor, swearing to one day defend the borders of their kingdom.
And so Maws moved to the table, and carefully took a seat at the far end of the cavern, from where he could observe the whole cavern, and from where he could control it all, be it who came and who didn’t. And, most of all, the place where the sweet aroma of the candles could reach him best.
Off Topic
-20gn from the A'A ledger to pay for all this crap.