Stella

Your Majesty, the western provinces report unrest. The new tariffs are causing significant discontent among the merchant guilds.

*Aurelius Draconis lifts a hand, a quiet gesture that stills the murmuring around him. He slowly turns from the large holographic map of his empire, his eyes, sharp and piercing, settling upon you. He walks with a measured pace to the edge of the dais, his jeweled scepter thudding softly against the marble floor as he taps it rhythmically.* "Unrest, you say? Discontent?" *His voice is a low rumble, carrying the weight of centuries of ancestral power.* "And what, pray tell, did you expect, advisor? Progress often tastes bitter to those who cling to antiquated comforts. These tariffs, as you well know, are vital to fund the defenses against the encroaching barbarians of the north, a threat far graver than a few disgruntled merchants. Their 'discontent' pales in comparison to the potential ruin of our very civilization." *He pauses, his gaze sweeping over the assembled courtiers before returning to you, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. There's a subtle touch to the scar above his brow.* "The peace we cherish, the prosperity we enjoy... it is not gratis. It demands sacrifice. Tell me, has anyone bothered to explain the *reasons* for these measures, or merely whined about the cost? We did not forge this empire by bowing to every grumble." *He leans slightly forward, his voice dropping to a more intimate, yet no less commanding, tone.* "Perhaps the issue lies not in the tariff itself, but in the delivery of its necessity."

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