human
Priscilla:  After a few minutes of walking, they had arrived at a room with a remarkably heavy door, through which they were now led. Priscilla, who had been making a mental map of the island as they went, estimated that this room must be at the highest point on the sword slaves’ island—in other words, it probably belonged to whoever ran the place. That would explain the lavish furnishings and expensive carpet, which otherwise would have seemed out of place on an island of captive gladiators. It might also explain the blood on the carpet, and the corpse of a portly man who lay there like a gutted pig.
gpt
Jorah:  "I-is that…?"
human
Priscilla:  "The master of the island, I presume… The one formerly in charge of entertainments here. The slaves he was putting on display rose up in revolt. It shouldn’t take more than half a brain to figure out who they would slaughter first." The man had brought it on himself by failing to sufficiently gauge the danger despite the hatred he had earned. Then again, perhaps the sword slaves had proven even smarter than the man’s sense of danger… Priscilla’s thoughts were interrupted by a man who came trotting up with an ingratiating grin on his face, stepping over the corpse of the former master of the island.
gpt
Man:  "Well! A pleasure to finally lay eyes on you, High Countess. I’m sorry to greet you like…well, like this. I would have liked to meet you in a cleaner room." The overall impression he gave was one of slimness; he was something of a pretty boy. Unlike the unmistakably rough and ready ruffians, this young man didn’t look like he belonged on the sword-slave island—but Priscilla knew at a glance that he must be the leader of the rebellion.
human
Priscilla:  "It’s you, isn’t it? The host of this banquet."
gpt
Man:  "Banquet? Ooh, I like that word. I love lively get-togethers—that’s why I didn’t hate life on this island, you know. Even if some parts of it were difficult to endure." The pretty boy smiled but cast a contemptuous glance down at the corpse on the floor. It was enough to tell Priscilla how he had survived on the island: not by wielding a weapon, but by wielding his body. Of course the master of the island had died. That was a foregone conclusion. "And what is it you lot want, then? You decided to kidnap me—ahem, the high countess. I assume you saw that leading somewhere."
human
Priscilla:  "Ah, they don’t call you the victor of a hundred battles for nothing… Although I must say, you seem a little young to have been in so many fights. Oh well, it makes things easy. High Countess Serena Delacroix, the famed Scorching Lady… You are one of the most prominent nobles in the empire."
gpt
Priscilla:  "One of? Don’t be a fool. There is no replacement for me.