Rodolphus stroked the edge of his wineglass as he thought on their current troops. "We can't afford to lose any strong warriors. The pox rather unfortunately decimated our forces." He showed his displeasure in that by snapping the empty glass in half. But he quickly waved the mess away with his wand, not caring to mend the cut from the sliver of glass that was embedded in his thumb.
"However, that which doesn't kill us only serves to make us stronger," he added. "We may have weeded out some of our weakest followers, and now we are only left with the cream of the crop." He flashed a dark look at his wife, knowing that he had recovered quicker than her. She would not be happy. He'd put her in her place later.
The soup was served - a deeply rich and red tomato soup, and Rodolphus flicked his napkin into his lap, wanting to move onto more pleasant topics of conversation, not the failure they had just experienced. "So what mayhem and mischief have you got planned in the near future, little brother?"