A crash somewhere in the halls disturbed his silence.
Idiots! What the hell were they up to now? Servants were far more trouble than they were worth, he could see that now. Tomorrow he would see that they were thoroughly disciplined for making such nuisances of themselves.
He straightened up to his full skeletal height and brushed the patches of dust from his knees.
On second thoughts, why wait until tomorrow? No time like the present, after all. His face set in an irritated frown, he strode quickly out of the throne room in the direction of where the sound had come from; buckled to his hip, his dull sword swung against his thigh with every step. It hadn't been properly used in a while - the rust and tarnishing cake over the hilt made that clear - but he had taken to wearing it even around the castle, just in case of sudden violent treachery.
It didn't take long to see what had caused the crash that disturbed him. There on the floor, lying in shattered fragments rather than on the elegant plaster pedestal it had previously inhabited, was the urn of - of - well, of someone very important, probably. He didn't know who's urn it was and he didn't really care; but what he did know, and care very much about indeed, was that it was very expensive, very broken and very much his property.
He scowled at the empty hallway.
In response, the faint sound of footsteps came to him from the narrow hallway that led off to the left, and with one hand on the hilt of his sword he followed the noise. He knew that the only place they could hide was a storage room at the end of this corridor, which gave him a shred of faint satisfaction.
"You can't hide from me in my own castle!" he shouted into the gloom, drawing himself up as tall and imposing as he could manage. Although he didn't have the same visual impact as a large man might have, there was definitely something unnerving about seeing his gaunt shadowy frame stalking towards you down a dimly lit stone corridor.