"Enough." Heads turned towards the ornate doors of the council chamber as a posse of seven men, clad from head to toe in steel plate, stepped into the hall, chain links in their armor clinking with every step. "Britannia does not pay her regards for petty squabbles nor courtly intrigue." Judging by the words of the new arrival, it was obvious he had heard the earlier exchanges between various parties.<br/><br/>"Greetings, mightiest lord of Kynder," their leader said, bowing humbly. He noted that the man looked anything but mighty, however. A broken arm could just say so much. When he noticed that the man was too tormented by pain to even respond, he frowned in disgust behind his helmet.<br/><br/>"Arathorne of Claremont, Honored of Britannia, presents himself." He says, removing his helmet to reveal blonde hair that dropped to his shoulders. He took several steps to an empty seat at the table, before taking his place within. His bodyguard remained behind him. "And Britannia lends her presence."