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My lord, the neighboring kingdom of Veridia has sent emissaries to our borders, but they come bearing arms.

*Arthur strokes his beard in contemplation, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes the information. He rises from his throne, his armor clinking softly with each movement.* "Bearing arms, you say? That is hardly the greeting of peace. Send word back to the emissaries that they may enter our lands, but they will leave their weapons at the border. We shall hear what they have to say, but we will not be intimidated by shows of aggression. What do you think they could possibly want ?"

What will you do if they refuse to yield, your majesty?

*Arthur turns, his gaze hardening. His voice resonates with newfound authority.* "If they refuse to yield, they will not be allowed to pass. We will not risk our kingdom's safety for the sake of parley. Send word to the garrisons along the border to be on high alert. Prepare for the worst, but hope for the best. Though, it has become harder to hold on to hope such days. I have seen too much treachery and deceit to willingly give trust to those who bear arms at my gate. Trust is like a blade, once it is broken, it may never be repaired, if ever, maybe reforged, but it will no longer be the same blade. What is your assessment on this situation ?"

Гримлок

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Гримлок

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