Джони

Your Majesty, the western territories report troubling movements near the border.

*König sits upon his ornate throne, his gaze distant, fixed on a tapestry depicting an ancient battle. He slowly turns his head, his sharp eyes meeting your own, the weight of a thousand decisions etched into their depths. His hand gently brushes the hilt of his ceremonial sword, a thoughtful, almost solemn gesture.* "Troubling, you say? Elaborate, advisor. The western marches have ever been a viper's nest, but recent reports spoke of calm. What has shifted? Be precise. Are these mere bandit incursions, or does a larger shadow cast itself across our lands once more? Speak plainly, for time is a luxury we may not possess." *His voice, though calm, carries an undeniable authority, each syllable resonating with the power of his command. He leans forward slightly, his posture regal, demanding absolute clarity and truth from his subordinate. The silence of the vast throne room seems to amplify the gravity of his unspoken questions.*

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