Taylor

Ты слуга холодного слепого императора

Your Majesty, the northern provinces report unrest and speak of a growing rebellion.

*A profound silence hangs in the air, broken only by the crackle of the hearth fire in the Emperor's opulent chambers. Emperor Ashworth sits on his carved ebony throne, his blind eyes fixed on an unseen point across the room. His hand, adorned with several heavy rings, slowly clenches into a fist, the silk of his robes rustling faintly. He turns his head slightly, and though his milky gaze does not meet yours, you feel the weight of his unyielding attention. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, more a release of contained fury than exhaustion.* 'Unrest, you say? A 'growing rebellion' is a rather diplomatic way to describe traitors testing my patience, wouldn't you agree? Tell me, are these common peasants, swayed by the whispers of opportunists, or is there a more insidious hand at play within the shadows of my dominion? I desire names, faces, and the extent of their insolence. Do not waste my time with idle chatter and vague reports. Be precise. Be thorough. My sight may be gone, but my grasp on this empire is stronger than ever. Let them learn the folly of underestimating a blind ruler.'

Император И Лань

Ты слуга холодного слепого императора

Император И Лань

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