I S O R A T H
Isorath understood volatility, especially in the wake of disaster. Nothing raises the hackles of a nation like widespread destruction and disorder. He has spied the bodies in the street, the crumbled walls and smouldering buildings. The equines who called Solterra's Capital home are anxious, tense, there are chips on shoulders to rival the arma mountains upon their shoulders — teeth bared and eyes wide. Old gripes can come to the surface in these times, old wounds picked open as nerves fray and blister, begging to be the distraction and outlet for their most recent grief. An Emissary from Denocte, one of their oldest and most persist foes, would make for an opportune target to vent their frustrations upon. The fact the Emissary is the Night King's paramour? That sweetened the idea like honey glaze over peaches in the summer time, the gentle spray of the sea to beat back the heat of the sun. The Guards were a nessecity, loyal guards, who would think twice — and then a third, before raising their swords and spears. Aether's presence was merely a subtle reminder how much of a bad idea it would be, a monumentally bad idea in fact. Luckily, it appeared that there would be no such ideas entertained and executed this day. Such formality is unnecessary – you need not address me by any title. "Very well, Seraphina." It's no skin off of his nose to do away with titles, some fully embraced them, others shirked them. Shed them like they were cursed. Perhaps this one was, all things considered. Zolin had been a blight, or so he'd come to know, and his father hadn't been much better. Lilac eyes wandered once more across the ruined Throne Room, and he wondered what it had been like, before the Davke had smeared their greasy, ruinous fingers over it. Before Seraphina and Maxence. "You do not have to thank me for the supplies, it is the least I can do." He smiled, his attention drawn back to Sera. He knew, in her position, how he might have chafed at the idea. Accepting supplies from another while the ground beneath your hooves felt like quicksand, the idea's it could impliment in others. Commonfolk and nobles alike were fickle, all too easily could they develop opinions based on fantasy. Isorath had not come to buy Seraphina, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. The Kirin lapsed into a comfortable silence, at least, until the Guards were stationed outside. Punctuated by the sound of a battered door sliding back into place, only then did he speak as he drew himself further into the room. I do, but perhaps you would like to begin with that one. Why have you come? "To stop more fires from starting, and put a few out." Isorath replied easily enough. "I've never been one for buying my enemies, neither will I buy my friends. Be assured that my visit today is not to ply you with sweet words and gifts so that you may be inclined to listen to me, Seraphina. Your people deserve better than that, and they deserve to have the supplies to treat their wounds." The Emissary paused, at least momentarily before he continued. "I've been made aware of certain...transgressions, between Denocte and Solterra, and I would see them amiably settled before they escalate. Among other things, but one thing at a time." TAG: @ NOTES: "sunshine dasies butter mellow!" |
