[b]Volksingen Proper, Vlaanburg Electorates[/b] Olov looked down at the broken body beneath him. Blood pooled into the crevices of the stones at his feet, softly reflecting the light of the dim torch on the wall. Olov could hear his shallow breathing. The man yet lived, although the flesh had been torn from his body in places, and a crimson gash ran from his lips to either ear. If he screamed from the pain, he’d tear his cheeks apart. His treatment had evidently not been gentle. At the other side of the room a tall figure organized and cleaned blades over a small table. “What did you learn?” the Elector asked. “Nothing of value,” the man answered, looking up from his work. His head was shaved to the scalp, and like Olov, his features were gaunt, predatory. “Says he was given a few grams of mithril powder. Used it to outfit his little company.” “By whom? Nobody just gives mithril away, Vroz.” Olov said with dissatisfaction. Vroz shrugged and turned away from his tools, leaning against the cell bars. “That’s the problem. Wouldn’t - or couldn’t say a name. Tried everything I knew to get it out of him. He said the donation was given by an anonymous party. Didn’t know who they were, but they were none too fond of the Archon, either. Foreigners, probably.” “Who’s the bigger fool?” Olov asked, “The man who funds a hopeless revolt or the one who leads it?” After a pause, “Not a very substantial report to take to the Archon.” “I extracted what I could,” Vroz replied with a wave of his hand. “This man was an idiot with grand ideas, rushing into a situation he didn’t understand. That’s how I see it.” The tall vampire slid the last of his implements into a leather sheath. “Very well,” Olov sighed. “Do with him what you wish. But this mithril business doesn’t sit right with me. I’ll contact the minister of finance. See if he can dig up a trail. Make yourself available in the meantime. I might need you again soon.” “As you command,” Vroz said with a nod of his head. Olov gathered his robes and existed the cell. As he retreated down the corridor, he could hear a nauseating tearing sound and the flow of fluid behind him. ---- [i]A collab with [@Goldeagle1221][/i] [b]Bergen Proper, Vlaanburg Electorates[/b] “My Archon,” a steward declared, voice fluttering with embellished syllables, “the representative of Princess Abigail d'Montigue, Duchess of Kamwell, and soon to be Queen of Lynnfaire.” Archon Vorren nodded to the Lynnfarish emissary, gesturing the man closer to the throne. Vorren sat regally, clad in rich silk robes with a golden band atop his head. He looked more an emperor than he did an elected official. From the ceiling hung banners of previous Archons, a long line of Primordial-blooded vampires. Vorren’s attendants and other members of Vlaanburg’s court sat at attendance, all gaunt, pale-skinned figures that flashed rows of fangs as they whispered amongst themselves. Luis swallowed hard as he stepped forward; this was not the court he was used to. Not the court of [i]normal[/i] people with rosy cheeks. Nevertheless, he stepped with a steady gait befitting his station and bent in a measured bow before the vampire seated before him. “His Archon of Vlaanburg,” Luis addressed the intimidating figure before him, “I bring the favor of Queen Abigail with me, and an offer of marriage.” His message was short, but every word caused his heart to leap, each with resting importance that could alter the very world. He bowed his head, “a marriage between his Archon of Vlaanburg and Her Majesty of Lynnfaire.” Hushed whispers befell the hall, but a wave of the Archon’s hand silenced them. Vorren raised an eyebrow. “A marriage?” he echoed. “Between Her Majesty and myself? I… trust that this is strictly political?” “Of course, his Archon, purely of politics. It has been many a century since the treaty of eternal peace, it is only her wish to finally cement the sisters Lynnfaire and Vlaanburg in perpetual alliance and care. Her Majesty is in no need of an heir or sire, but wishes herself a marriage to promote only unity.” Luis bowed his head humbly. “Of course,” Vorren said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It would mean a great deal to me to solidify the alliance between our nations in this manner.” He turned his attention to those in attendance. “Speak. What say you of this marriage?” A moment passed before a well-groomed vampire stood, straightening his coat and raising a palm to Luis. “I love a good wedding,” he sang, “but what of the succession crisis in Lynnfaire? I do not call [i]Princess[/i] Abigail’s motives into question, but is she not busy subduing Duke William?” A few voices chorused in agreement. “Where does Vlaanburg stand in this?” another voice asked. “Does Her Majesty expect us to fight on her behalf?” “Certainly not,” Luis answered respectfully, “with a diet called, William without Rylea and the possibility of joining the kingdoms in unity, Abigail is nigh guaranteed succession to late King Edward, may he have found the mist.” More whispers. Another palm from the Archon quelled them. “It does my heart good to hear such news,” Vorren said cheerfully. “Extend my best wishes to Her Majesty at the diet. As for the matter of marriage…” Vorren tapped his fingers together. “I see no reason to decline. I'm sure all of us wish to cement the bond between the Electorates and the Kingdom of Lynnfaire,” he said, glancing at the court. Heads nodded, voices muttered. “She wishes for it to be as soon as possible, and she also wishes to discuss the matter of inheritance and longevity personally. Let it be known though that her stance is to keep the two kingdoms as they are geographically and that there will be no encroaching on the other's holdings through the bond. Strictly, well, political.” Luis bowed his head, “a symbol of bond.” “Excellent. We will be wed at Her Majesty’s convenience. [i]Strictly politically,[/i]” he said with a fanged smirk.