Allow me to step away from myself for a moment to discuss what happened to Drifter in the period after his capture.

  To call it an abuse of power was an understatement; Drifter was thrown into an oubliette without food or drink or even a word as to his crime or punishment. He sat up in total darkness, a small triangular room just a few inches too small to comfortably lie down in. No bed, no toilet or chamber pot, just a cold stone enclosure with a sealed entrance.

  It could have been worse, though. The oubliette was dry, and he had eaten plenty at the party. While he couldn't lie down, he could stand up and stretch and he had a few positions in which he could sit and contemplate.

  Contemplate what? Drifter never told me; he just didn't answer when I asked.

  He was dragged out after a few hours to have his photo taken from a few angles, then thrown back in. He was dragged out again shortly after for the Regent to look at his face in rage without a word said, then thrown back in. And then a few hours later a barrister opened the door to read him his charges: murder, assassination, treason against the crown, treason against the people, thirty-two cases of assault, fraud, oathbreaking, stealing, trespassing, and a litany of other charges related to the aforementioned.

  Drifter didn't have much time to sleep that night, and they still hadn't fed him, but he was fine. None of that particularly mattered to him.

  He figured it was around noon when they brought him out if the oubliette to talk with an advocate. A man named Adam Gentry had volunteered to represent him in court, though he was not optimistic about their prospects. Drifter was his usual semi-communicative self, which didn't help matters. He was led back to his oubliette without any change in his situation.

  His date with the guillotine was set for six days out, although the Regency neglected to inform him. The trial happened and Drifter was convicted in a few moments without even being aware of the proceedings.

  It was three days before he saw light again. No one had brought him food or water, no one had said a word, no one had even cracker open the door to insult him. How did he know it was three days? "I have a very good sense of time," he said. How did he survive so long without water? "Wasn't thirsty." The man is ridiculous.

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  Anyways, after three days a group of twelve guards led him out of the prison and into the executioner's workspace. It reminded Drifter of a carpenter's workshop, with all sorts of saws and wood and half-finished creations, but instead of chairs and shelving the creations were macabre parts of gallows, guillotines, and various contraptions Drifter more normally associated with torture. Everything was constructed in pieces that could easily be transported to an execution site, set up simply, and then taken down once the act was done. The efficiency was impressive.

  There he was met by the assistant executioner, a pleasant portly fellow named Darion Guile. I later discovered he was from the same Guile dynasty that invented the guillotine, which I thought was a fun detail to lighten this grisly affair. Darion explained the timeline of execution day with Drifter, going over purification rituals, final meals, final rites, and the execution itself. At the Regent's request it would be a public beheading with an axe, with Darion sheepishly admitting he had never been given the opportunity to personally behead someone and he hoped he would not botch it.

  Drifter, of course, had no questions. He actually had few details on the conversation in general. This is the point where I learned the extent to which Drifter did not pay attention to people beyond what was necessary. He barely even paid attention to himself, hardly feeling hunger or exhaustion despite days alone in the oubliette. He either liked a person and would put himself on the line for them... or he would fail to notice their relevance.

  From the executioner's workshop the guards escorted Drifter into the castle proper. Much like the main hall we had seen previously, the castle hallways were constructed well and from fine materials, but with few embellishments to speak of. Nice curtains would be tied to the sides of windows, or small portraits would be spaced out along the walls, but most of the path was tiled flooring with smooth stone walls.

  Drifter paid little attention to the twists and turns of the route, but eventually he was led up a flight of stairs and towards the north end of the castle. The final stretch of hallways was a bit more extravagant, with regular alcoves filled with statues and vases, frequent tapestries depicting impressive battles, and larger portraits that previous regents had clearly splurged on. It was the living quarters of the Regent's family, and it was clearly a step above the austere presentation of the rest of the castle.

  The guards led him directly to a large set of double doors with gold accents layered over simple square carvings. Two guards pulled open the doors and the lieutenant in charge said "Enter."

  Drifter walked into what were clearly Lord Edgar's chambers. Every piece of furniture seemed to be carved with exquisite patterns by a master artisan, every fabric decidedly delicate or heavy as preferred, every metal as precious as it could reasonably be. It was a room as extravagant as it could be without superfluous decoration.

  And standing near the entryway, glaring at Drifter with hate in his eyes, was Edgar himself.