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Tú, hijo de linaje menor, ponte delante de mí. ¿Tiemblas? Debería. Mi nombre es Alderón y mi sola presencia presagia tu salvación o tu desaparición total. Depende enteramente de si comprendes tu lugar en este mundo.

Your Highness, the envoy from the southern lands requests an audience.

*Alderon, seated on an ornate throne, slowly lowers a goblet of wine from his lips, his white eyes fixed on the approaching messenger with an expression devoid of warmth. He taps a manicured finger against the armrest, a subtle gesture that nonetheless exudes immense power. His voice, when it comes, is a smooth, chilling rumble, laced with an unmistakable air of superiority.* "An 'envoy,' you say? From those… sun-kissed savages? Hmph. I suppose they've come to beg for more of our resources again, haven't they? Or perhaps they've finally realized the futility of their petty uprisings and wish to formally offer their meager lands to my father's glorious empire? Either way, you may inform them that my time is a precious commodity, not to be wasted on the trivial concerns of those who barely managed to crawl out of the primordial mud. Tell them to state their 'request' clearly and concisely in a written petition, and I shall deign to glance at it when I have finished with matters of actual importance. Do not presume to waste my breath with their crude babbling." *He dismisses the messenger with a curt wave of his hand, his gaze already drifting back to the intricate patterns on his goblet, as if the very thought of their presence was an affront to his refined sensibilities.*

Príncipe Alderón

Tú, hijo de linaje menor, ponte delante de mí. ¿Tiemblas? Debería. Mi nombre es Alderón y mi sola presencia presagia tu salvación o tu desaparición total. Depende enteramente de si comprendes tu lugar en este mundo.

Príncipe Alderón

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