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Leif’s clothes, leaving them in a self-created murky puddle. Only after wrapping a towel around him and helping him into the robe did Laurie return to Sir Glen’s side. As Laurie stripped their guest, he had questioned the choice of bringing Mr. Leif in such a drastic circle. Sir Glen assessed his wayward peer physically suppressing pity and winces knowing full well that Mr. Leif had found a harsher reality than inside the safety of the conclave. With a hint of mild embarrassment, Leif fished into his wet clothes and pulled out the few items he owned and then sat across from Sir Glen waiting for the questioning to begin. A million of unspoken questions hung in the air and Leif didn’t want to answer them all, but he would if he was asked. Having left, he had experienced first hand many things worse than Sir Colin’s lackadaisical care. Finally, Sir Glen sliced through the tension. ‘If you’ll be here in two night’s time, I’ll will expect you to join us at the dinner Laurie and I are. “How come I can’t see you?”There was no answer right away. “In some parts Laveau is a famous name. Powerful name.” “Where are you?” she asked again, beginning to lose patience. She was looking at the Lovell family graves, examining the carvings on the large slab, admiring the angels and gargoyles. Behind her there was a sliding sound and a rustling of dead leaves. From out of the ground a metal door, like the door of a coal cellar, was opening, and a man came up the stairs.He stood at least 6’4”, his face somewhere between dark brown and ashen grey, with close-cropped curly hair. He wore flowing brown trousers and a loose-fitting tan shirt. These were partially covered by a kind of long black tunic with red trim. He was covered in tattoos of many things – devils and dead bodies and strange symbols. His bare arms, neck and face were covered in red grease-painted symbols that complemented the tattoos. On his head he wore a strange sort of crown made apparently of carefully.
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