Maldor (still hopefully)
From the irridescent dimples of the Medusae fish I have extracted a saffron liquid, O master, which mixed with the larvae of dragon-flies, completes a most satisfactory poison. Administered in microscopic doses, it creates ribbons of flame in the blood and its enchanting victim expires, glowing with strange, phosphorescent colors.
Sobe
I am sick of suavely terrifying poisons.
Maldor (speaks wistfully)
What strange delicacy makes you almost brutal tonight, O Master?
Sobe (speaks as to himself)
Wearisome poisons. A droll flutter ... and then always that dainty monotony—death.
Maldor (speaks swiftly)