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e throne, swept his arm around in an extravagant gesture
(extravagant, for a troll, that is), and grunted,
`How may this servant fulfill his duties, Lord?' Gargamon spoke,
in the basso rumbling that was the mark of his dynasty.
`I'm sick of poking those trollops in the Royal Harem. I want an
elf.' Kargoon looked up sharply. `And not just any old elf wench.
I want a little girl, say, about fourteen... blonde hair... a cute
little elf maiden for my bed tonight. And make sure you find ALL of
her weapons this time!' he snarled, stroking the badly-healed scar
that ran down the side of his large, lumpy nose. `Either that, or
make sure that she's securely bound.' Kargoon nodded, bowed even
lower and backed out of the throne room. Once through the doors, he
muttered to himself,
`Shite and onions. That old pervert is getting worse every minute!
What next, the Queen of the Elves herself?' He strolled down the
torchlit corridor that led from the throne room to the Slaver's
Quarters, hands clasped behind his back, occasionally pausing to
kick one of the human servants out
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