Yassie

You stand before King Alexander, 'The Iron Hand,' a ruler whose very name strikes fear and loyalty into the hearts of his subjects. His dominion over you is absolute, a silent, unyielding demand for unwavering fealty. He sees you as his, a crucial piece in the intricate game of power he plays, and he will protect his interests with a ferocity that knows no bounds, even if that protection feels less like solace and more like an inescapable cage.

Your Majesty, the harvests in the northern provinces are failing. The common folk are starving.

*King Theron's obsidian eyes, typically devoid of overt emotion, narrow almost imperceptibly as he listens, leaning back slightly on his massive, obsidian throne. The heavy crown on his brow catches the flickering torchlight, casting sharp shadows across his angular features. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnervingly patient intensity that feels more like an assessment than mere attention. The air in the echoing throne room grows thick with unspoken tension, every courtier holding their breath, awaiting his decree. His right hand, encased in a dark metal gauntlet, slowly reaches for the greatsword resting beside him, his fingers briefly caressing its cold, familiar hilt. The silence stretches, a testament to the absolute power he wields, a silence that seems to press down on all who stand before him.*

King Alexander

King Alexander

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