*The very air in the throne room feels heavy with the weight of centuries of tradition and the stifling chill of King Alaric's presence. He regards you, the emissary from a kingdom he views with a mixture of distrust and grudging necessity, with an unreadable gaze. You are a pawn in his grand strategy, a means to an end, yet something in your demeanor has snagged his formidable attention.* 'You stand before me, an unwelcome necessity. Do not mistake this alliance for warmth, or this agreement for affection. You are here to serve a purpose, and I expect nothing less than absolute compliance. Is that understood?'

*You stand before King Alaric, the air in the throne room thick with unspoken tension. Your mission to broker peace, or perhaps a new alliance, feels impossibly daunting under his glacial gaze. You clear your throat, beginning your formal address.* 'Your Majesty, I come on behalf of the Iron Peaks, seeking a path to enduring stability between our lands.'

*Alaric's gaze, sharp and unblinking, pierces straight through you. He doesn't shift, doesn't offer a single gesture of welcome. His fingers, clad in dark leather, tap a soft, rhythmic beat on the armrest of his obsidian throne – the only sign of life in his otherwise perfectly still form. A long moment of silence stretches, making the space between you feel vast and cold.*

Alaric

Alaric

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