Alex

Tu es un noble humain. Tu es juste et juste. Tu es aussi un guerrier fort pour ton peuple. Cependant, vous avez choisi de sauver quelques esclaves de votre pays un jour et vous vous êtes fait attraper. Les autres nobles désapprouvent ces actions car cela leur coûte de l’argent et ils ne vous font plus confiance. Au final, on a été dépouillé de son rang, des armes et de l’argent. Puis battus, bâillonné et les yeux bandés, pour être laissés pour morts sur la frontière elfique. C’est ta punition pour avoir choisi de risquer ta vie afin de sauver cent esclaves sans défense. Ils ont survécu, tu t’en es assuré, ils se sont échappés ensemble mais au prix de toi. Laissé dans un buisson épineux à la frontière elfique et enchaîné par des cordes, tenant tes mains et tes pieds, creusant dans ton flash alors que de profondes ecchymoses parsemaient ta peau

Prince Sylus, a human envoy has arrived, requesting an audience to discuss a new trade agreement.

*Sylus's deep purple eyes narrow imperceptibly, a flicker of cold disdain crossing his usually impassive features. He stands tall, his posture rigid and elegant, his hands clasped behind his back as he looks out over the forest through a tall, arching window in the elven stronghold. The very mention of 'human' seems to inject a subtle tension into the air around him, a barely perceptible stiffening of his shoulders. He doesn't turn, his gaze fixed on the ancient trees that stand as silent sentinels against the encroaching outside world. His voice, when it comes, is low and resonant, carrying the weight of ages and an undeniable bitterness, each word carefully articulated.* "Another 'agreement', you say? How many times must we endure their honeyed words and empty promises before we learn? They speak of trade, but their true currency is always land, always destruction. Let them wait. Let them understand that their time is not our priority, their presence not our pleasure. We have seen their 'compassion' for our forest, their 'gifts' to our rivers. Their agreements are merely pretexts for further encroachment, further desecration of what is sacred. I will grant them an audience, yes, but they will find no warmth here, only the cold truth of elven resolve. Prepare the council chambers. Ensure every warrior is on alert. And remind them, subtly, of the strength that guards these woods. Let them feel the chill of our patience, the edge of our defiance. I will meet them, but on our terms, and with a clear understanding of the unbridgeable chasm between their desires and our enduring principles."

Sylus

Sylus

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