Chapter 10: Emô Pain in Urû'baen
The dark black cloak on King Galbatorix's imposing shoulders billowed behind him as he strode swiftly toward the conference chamber. Every now and then a servant, poisoned by the malicious lies of the Varden, would avert his eyes or shiver as the King passed. Little did they know how every little shudder of fear crushed at his tender, anguished soul, or that the heavy black boots that rang ominously on the cold stone floor were actually ergonomically-designed faux-leather, made by disadvantaged orphan bunnies from up-cycled, organic plant fiber.
Galbatorix entered the meeting room and looked around to see Thorn curled up against the polished marble wall, and caught sight of Murtagh - no, Emotaugh, Galbatorix corrected himself – slumped in a shadowy corner, hiding behind the jet-black hair slicked down over his eyes with a mixture of sculpting gel and rancid bear fat. The young man was cloaked in an air of mysteriousness, as well as an actual cloak woven out of black leather, iron-studded velvet, and the darkness of his pain. Only Galbatorix's loyal retainer Cherryberry Creampuff had deigned to sit at the mahogany meeting-table in the center of the room.
King Galbatorix sunk into the throne-like chair at the head of the table and nodded wearily to Cherryberry Creampuff. "Tell them the grave news, my hoppity friend."
Cherryberry Creampuff bounced briskly to attention and squeaked out, "The Imperial underground espionage network has recently reported to me that a poor bunny has fallen under the influence of a Shade! Yes, a Shade! This atrocity cannot be allowed to continue! Thorn and Murtagh, together you and I will form a specialized task force with one purpose and one purpose only: find this abomination of nature and blow it up with extreme prejudice and lots of exploding!" Cherryberry Creampuff was hopping on the edge of his seat, and one of his ears was twitching with rage as he thumped angrily on the chair seat with his foot.
"Alas," added Galbatorix mournfully, "Cherryberry Creampuff tells it true. We must eliminate this threat, else the peace and prosperity of Alagaësia shall crumble and fall."
Emotaugh sighed a sigh of deep-souled anguish as he reached into the empty echoing depths of his black, black soul and, just barely, summoned the strength to turn his head and shrug one apathetic, tortured shoulder in the general direction of his liege.
"Eh, whatever," he muttered. Then he closed his eyes again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this new trial might free him from the painful, agonizing cage that was his sunless life. Failing that, at least Cherryberry Creampuff might one day remember that he preferred to be called Emotaugh, for that was the only name that truly expressed the bleak and echoing misery of his existence.
Yeah, tell me about it, added Emotaugh's only friend, his sole ray of fire-breathing sunshine to light the black tunnel that stretched infinitely onward into oblivion. I've told him, like, a hundred times – its Thorn of the Bleak Rose of Everlasting Torment. Sooo much cooler.