The senechal trembled on the floor as the man paced before him. He held out his hands as if to bed for mercy but dared not look at the pacing man, fearing his wrath and ire by even the slightest insult he could glean from eye contact. A gilded scimitar was clutched in the other man's hand and he toyed with the sharp curved of the blade's edge around the back of the man's exposed neck.  "Please Captain, you must forgive me. We have been working tireless for months," he said. The other man roared and raised the sword as if to strike. "Don't my love," a woman's voice cooed. "You'll dirty the carpets." The woman's voice seemed to soothe the man's rage and he turned back to smile at the woman. There was a reclining couch behind him loaded with thick plush pillows. A woman was draped across the chair and looked sultry as the man stared at her. Her skin was a light blue and seemed to ripple like ocean waters in a quiet lagoon.