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Yet before Sabagadis even finishes his utterance, before the press of his lips have managed even to meet beneath the hideous twisted star-metal of his exposed barbarian war mask... At the mention of "...Peace", the colossal mound of flesh that is Lord Grotius Balbinus convulses in a tantrum of violent rage, contorting as he sneeze-vomits:
- BAAALLLEEUURRGGHHhaaggnahyahhnnngah!
PEACE?!? PEESE?? PEE-ssse?! Bleurghh-gah! NO PEE-ss! No pee! ...ss! POUND! POUND! Pound... WIFE! PRETTY WIFE! Pound... fall. Plop! Ploppy-plop plop! Fall - defecate. Wife, pretty! No pee! Deprecate? Preci-ate? Defecate: I ate. Defecate! Pound defecate, pretty wife. No pee! POUND WIFE! BLEURGH-gah! Hnnnyahgahgah!
A mysterious moist smear is evident beneath the hovering gravitic palanquin bearing Lord Praecentor Grotius Balbinus. The tormented faces within the lion mane of the Persuasion Engine, the beast of burden harnessed to his supporting dais, moan and whimper wordlessly.
For the first time, as the procession approaches closer to you, between the ranks of Oration devotees the Glagolitic Guard, you begin to appreciate the colossal dimensions of the meaty flesh mass of Lord Grotius Balbinus. You think that to fully encompass Lord Grotius visually - at close range within your field of vision - would require a wide sweep of your head from side-to-side.
The enraged cloacal outburst from the obese Lord Praecentor alarms Sabagadis a little; Sleer seems perplexed by its meaning.
- Do you need... company, my Lord? Your wife? To speak to your wife? Which consort do you desire, Lord Praecentor?
