He was bored. Thoroughly, utterly, mind-numbingly bored. Even the hustle and bustle of the tuesday market didn't manage to pierce the Viscount La Seiche's self imposed languor. He looked at his reflection in a broadsword at Berk's stand. A grey face looked back at him. Hair and beard stylishly coiffed, collar immaculate (almost virgin white) and his suit of armour was polished to an impressive sheen. In all that splendour the eyes stood out. They stood out like sore thumbs. Gregory's appearance was perfect, but the mirrors of his soul were cracked. With a heartfelt sigh La Seiche turned away from his mirror-image. As he let his gaze wander, his steel blue eyes met Berk's. He saw pity in them... Extremely uncomfortable, Gregory decided to wallow in self-pity in private. Rather sudden, he turned around retreating - rather hurriedly - back to his fortified tower. The honour guards trailing him, scrambled out of his path, and stumbled to keep up with him. In the viscount's mind it seemed like the whole market hushed and watched his sudden departure. Many of his subjects pitied him. He was sure of it. It angered him, it made him feel weak. He hated that feeling, and it angered him even more. A free running chicken learned wingless flight, as La Seiche kicked it from his path. The surprised clucking didn't even register with him. Berk watched his liege stomp off. It had been about seven years ago now, when the viscountess died. She had been the spark in La Seiche's life, the spring in his step. All that had died with her. What remained was a shadow of the old viscount. He now lets life pass him by. He lets other nobles cajole him, lets them besmirch him. The smith knew that wasn't good. Not good for the viscount, and not good for his lands. "He needs a kick in the ass...", Berk mused out loud. Gloria, the local strumpet, overheard him, grinned, and added: "Or a good petting-party!" Somehow the woman had the unsettling habit of overhearing everything - and the annoying habit of venting her opinion as well. Gregory, looked back at his guards, chagrin pulling down his features: "Com'on! Hurry up. I need some brandy".