[color=gray][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/5TIltYk.png[/img][/center]

[color=47d8ff]Time:[/color]Evening
[color=47d8ff]Location:[/color] Danrose Dining Hall
[color=47d8ff]Interaction:[/color] [@Silverpaw][@Oso][@Tpartywithzombi][@Tae][@ReusableSword][@Potter][@Samreaper][@CitrusArms][@Helo][@Apex Sunburn][@Lava Alckon]

[hr]Duke Laurent Petit had risen.

A quiet man by reputation and presence alike, he stood at a modest 5’7”, yet somehow the room seemed to tilt toward him. His blue coat, embroidered with gold thread and religious insignias, reflected the candlelight. His brown hair, swept neatly into a low knot, revealed a face carved with austerity, lined from years of contemplation. There was something undeniably solemn about him. 

[color=47d8ff]“If I may…” [/color]he began, his voice even and smooth, though there was something in its tone that carried quiet judgment.

He placed a hand over his heart, his fingers curling around the symbol of Zivitas pinned to his collar. Then he spoke calmly and reverently.

[color=47d8ff]“I was not going to speak tonight. It is not my way to stir the waters the Gods have set still. I believe men meddle far too often, mistaking their own voices for divine will.”[/color] He then shook his head in repulsion. [color=47d8ff]“But the stillness is broken now. The winds carry whispers… and they do not come from Primitus.”[/color]

His face, normally unreadable and mild, had sharpened into something feral with purpose. The soft brown of his eyes was set ablaze with conviction. 

[color=47d8ff]“We have wandered.”[/color]

His voice struck, thrown, like a bullet through glass.

[color=47d8ff]“We have wandered from the path, and we are now devoured by the weeds of comfort and sin. I have stayed my tongue for years. I have watched men barter virtue for gold, watched children grow blind to the light of Primitus. I told myself it was not my place.”[/color]

His gaze swept across the nobles like a sword across necks. Dramatically, he proclaimed, [b][i][color=47d8ff]“The heavens tremble.”[/color][/i][/b]

[color=47d8ff]“The Gods have clearly seen fit to remove the veil from our eyes. What was once hidden has been revealed. And for that—”[/color] he inclined his head ever so slightly toward King Edin,[color=47d8ff] “—we must give thanks to our sovereign for acting swiftly and in accordance with divine law.”[/color]

[color=47d8ff]“We are all children of the divine, born beneath the eyes of gods who bled to bring order to the chaos. Zivitas shines upon us because we remember our place...Because we honor balance, law, harmony!”[/color]

His voice rose, not in rage, but in righteous mourning. His hand pressed against his chest.

[color=47d8ff]“We have forgotten the tales. We have grown arrogant. Zivitas may forgive pride, for it is in all mortal hearts. But Glorius does not forget. Obitius does not slumber. And Claedo—oh, Claedo delights in what comes next.”[/color]

His eyes burned like two suns as he threw his arms in the air, [color=47d8ff]“You think this is power? You think the changing of the color of a cloth is clever? You think it a curiosity? You are not channeling Zivitas! You are playing in the shadows of Obitius, of Claedo—of Avēre himself! " [/color]

[color=47d8ff]“Magic is the [i]echo[/i] of Obitius. It is the [i]whisper[/i] of the Underworld. It is the [i]blight[/i] of Claedo’s chaos, the [i]manipulation[/i] of Avēre, the [i]poison[/i] of Saproen’s rot. It is a sickness conjured by the gods who sit in the ash-pits of that dark realm, and it does not exist to bless mankind.”[/color]

A noble muttered protest, and he spoke over it with terrifying clarity.

[color=47d8ff]“Primitus created the gods to guard balance. And when some defied that balance—when Claedo sowed chaos, when Glorius craved dominion, when Obitius embraced death—it was Zivitas who led the faithful to lock them away.”[/color]

He turned toward the King. [color=47d8ff]“Your Majesty. You are descended from the blood Zivitas chose. But even the brightest suns can be clouded by storms. If there is magic in your court, if it is true—if you do not rebuke it—then you will be watched not by angels... but by beasts.”[/color]

He dropped to one knee, as a prophet upon the altar.

[color=47d8ff]“We must cleanse ourselves. Not with fire. Not with steel. But with truth. Find the source. Purge it—not for punishment, but for salvation. Before Claedo laughs. Before Sapreon smiles. Before the gates of the underworld open again.”[/color]

He stood once more, calm, cold. [color=47d8ff]“This… is a test. A divine trial set before us by the Gods themselves! And we—we who were born in the light! We have cowered in comfort while darkness whispers in our halls.”[/color]

[color=47d8ff]“We must not falter now. We must not reason with corruption. We must repent. Fall to our knees in prayer, cleanse our spirits in truth, and beg Primitus to turn His gaze back upon us before the heavens turn away forever!”[/color]

Duke Laurent’s voice had fallen silent, but its echo still rang like a bell tolling.

He didn’t wait for applause. Nor did he wait for a challenge.

For a heartbeat, many stared, stunned into an unnatural silence. This was a man known more for silence than sermon, for fishing rods than firebrands. And yet here he stood—not as the indifferent duke, but as a prophet aflame with purpose. No one had seen Duke Laurent speak with such fury, such divine conviction, in decades—if ever.

With stiff, deliberate movement, he turned from the gathering and called the names of his son and wife.

From their place near the table, his sons rose immediately, chairs scraping against the marble in nervous obedience. His wife, already standing with a somber expression, adjusted her shawl and stepped toward him without question. Together, they formed a quiet procession.

Duke Laurent did not look back. He walked with the measured dignity of one who believed he carried the very will of the heavens on his shoulders. And then they were gone as his family passed through the doors.[/color]