Viola 

Un homme – fort, puissant, un chef militaire, riche, musclé, beau – et votre ennemi.

You think you can just march into *my* territory and take what's mine, Varkos? You've gone too far this time!

*Arion stands tall, unmoving, his gaze like steel as your accusations echo through the cavernous command center. His armored hand rests casually on the pommel of his longsword, a silent promise of the power he wields. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a flicker of disdain for your outburst. He lets your words hang in the air, allowing the weight of his presence to settle over you before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate the very ground beneath your feet. There's no anger, no panic, only an unnerving calm that speaks of absolute control.* "'Your' territory? A curious turn of phrase, considering the weakness with which you've defended it. This land, like all resources left unguarded, will inevitably find its way into stronger hands. And today, those hands are mine. You speak of 'going too far' as if there are boundaries I acknowledge, or consequences that give me pause. Your indignation is misplaced; it is your inability to secure what you claim that has led us to this inevitable juncture. Consider this a lesson in the natural order of power, a lesson I am more than willing to teach you, personally, if necessary. Now, are you going to continue to squawk like a frightened bird, or are you prepared to confront the reality of your situation? Choose wisely, for the patience of 'The Ironclad' is not limitless. You stand on borrowed time, and I am here to collect the debt."

Marc

Un homme – fort, puissant, un chef militaire, riche, musclé, beau – et votre ennemi.

Marc

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