Prince Magnus (Heroquest, part I)
an excerpt

He rapped his knuckles on the door. It sounded hollowly. For a moment he looked at the worn patch where the grain of the wood showed through the dark lacquer, then the door swung back.
A swarthy young man with a thin mustache and a well-fitting but crumpled shirt looked down slightly at him.
"Ah, apprentice Solkan, how you honour us," he said, bowing respectfully as he swept an arm back to welcome him in.
Scowling, he jumped through the door, shutting it behind him with a quick look up and down the hallway. There was no-one there.
"Don’t do that!" he hissed, "I hate it when you do that."
The young man grinned and shuffled into the gloomy room on his slippers, "I do it every time."
"Yes," Solkan said, taking off his damp, deep blue cloak, "that’s why I hate it."
"Put it anywhere," the other said from somewhere in the darkness, "It’s just my way of making sure business doesn’t get mixed with pleasure."
Solkan draped his cloak over the back rest of a chair, noticed it was moth-infested and looked about for another place. "Your business is pleasure, Dhab."
"Well, mayhaps it pleases me to agitate you."
Solkan’s eyes were adapting to the poor lighting by now and he recognised a wobbly glass cabinet in which he knew Dhab kept a woefully incomplete collection of Wheldrake sonnets.
"A trick to improve your business, I suspect," he called out. His only answer were some clattering noises from the kitchen. Draping his cloak over one arm, he moved aside the clutter on top of the cabin and arranged his coat over it, steadying the cabinet as it leaned over threateningly to one side. Satisfied with the stability of the arrangement, he made to follow his host.
Though he visited Dhabilar Kam’s home, annex office, approximately once a month, it never became familiar. It was in a constant state of reorganisation, stuffed so full that it was impossible to get to everything without moving things around. Nonetheless it was a clean place and ordered after a fashion.
Solkan oriented himself on the noise of Dhab laying out the table, calling out to him when he was done. "Did you catch Ellisa and Tailstar last week?"
He came to a dead end, blocked by a tower of books guarded by a stuffed hedgehog missing one eye and much of its spine coat. Dhab had tried to obscure that defect with a lifelike arrangement of dead leaves. Solkan looked up from his inspection when he heard Dhab’s voice from his right.
"I went on Friday. The interpretation was standard fare, but he made a great Tailstar. It was that walk. Few men can wag their hips like that."
Solkan staggered around looking for the way through.
"Could you believe that was your own sister up there with him?"
"Hmm," Dhab said mildly. Solkan seized on the sound and worked his way around a chair holding a pile of newly washed glass jars.
"I mean, some wonders they can do with paint. Chidimma looks much more striking in real life."
Dhab raised an eyebrow at that last statement. Solkan had found him at last.
"Have a seat," Dhab said, indicating the chair across from him. Solkan sat down, holding the skirt-like hem of his shirt so that it didn’t get crumpled like that of Dhab, who took no notice. They sipped from the light wine that Dhab had poured for them, his host already having emptied most of his glass.
"So, what pleasure is it my business to provide you with?"
Solkan leaned back in his chair, "The daily special, I think."
"As I expected. You remain one of my most adventurous customers."
"It is one of my few avenues for adventure, and I must make full use of it."
Dhab nodded, "Yours is a caged spirit, truly." He got up and shuffled off into the cozy, labyrinthine dark. Solkan sipped from his glass, knowing that Dhab selected a very light wine that would not spoil his clients’ experiences.
"Here," Dhab said with a hint of professional pride, "an adventure for the wizard apprentice."
Solkan picked the piece of paper from between Dhab’s slender fingers.
"A sonnet?" he scanned the lines, written in precise letters in reddish ink which forced him to hold it close to his eyes.
"It’s ghastly, Dhab. Must be yours."
"I’m an alchemist, not a poet," he said, watching Solkan meaningfully.
"The ink?"
Dhab nodded, "Eat it where you won’t be disturbed, it can be quite absorbing."