"I believe we've had quite enough idle talk already," Arathorne got to his feet, pushing his chair back with the motion. "We have enough representatives of the provinces," he spat, tossing a glance in the direction of the eldritch abomination that was the Scarlock thrall seated far to his right, then to the Slayer prince, although not quite so intensely. "It is time for a referendum, time for this continent to make a choice." The politician next to him rose as well, barking, "Sit down!"<br/><br/>Arathorne looked at the Slayer prince again. He spoke with a blaze in his eyes. "You will not pull back?" The prince was silent.<br/><br/>Arathorne turned his gaze to the man beside him and reached down to the man's sword belt, pulling out a dagger. In the next moment he jabbed it downwards onto the map on the table. The knife tip pierced the middle of the brown parchment squarely, and it vibrated as Arathorne's hand let go of the handle. "Britannia suggests the course of war. Our shining host is ready for battle. I assume so are the rest of you."