Nash shrugged, "As for worries of your own culture, we will, if we find it so, keep any desirable traits of the culture. Other, insignifigant characteristics will be pushed aside." He muttered, seeming to mull this ideal over in his head the second after he'd defined it. "However interesting those characteristics may be...of course if they're monotheistic they may have a hard time, we have hundreds of gods, do we not?"<br/>Nash shook his head, and glanced back the the Kynder woman, "No matter the moral ramifacations, this is what will transpire. I've gone through this many times before, and each meeting ended the same." He drew a line across his throat, ironically tracing an old burn mark. "It is yours to choose. Survival or death. An easy choice, yes?"<br/>How could these people be so stubborn? When their lives depended on it, why would they fight so? Nash stared at his hands, trying to think.<span style="font-style: italic">Maybe they don't know what they're dealing with?</span><br/><br/>A Runner burst through the doors, face white as a sheet. Like the Prince, the Runner was armored only lightly, with reinforced boots and arms, but sans the concentrated area of markings. The Runner threw himself at the Prince's feet, babbling in the Slayer tongue, too fast for even the Prince to understand.<br/>Nash kicked the Runner, who was gasping for breath, and hauled him up by his shirt. "Speak, Runner, deliver your message."<br/>He set the Runner down, almost gently, on the table, while the man took a deep, labored breathe, and recited the message.<br/>Nash's brows drew together, he rolled his cigarette between his teeth, and finally cursed.<br/>He whistled sharply, and the two guards entered.<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Two steeds were found, originating from the tundra. Tell Father about this and deploy aid and upgraded armor, I TOLD that fool I had yet to assess these Natives completely!"</span><br/>One guard bowed his head, and the other looked to the diplomats.<span style="font-weight: bold">"What of them? Are you going into battle, Frax?"</span>There was admiration and a trace of hope in his voice.<span style="font-weight: bold">"You are the only one of your Genotype."</span><br/>Nash gave the guard an empty stare, and waved the question away.<span style="font-weight: bold">"Go. Now. I will remain and let them argue, perhaps find out what killed two Slayer, figure out how alarmed we should be."</span><br/>The bowed guard grumbled,<span style="font-weight: bold">"Those Slayer were children, why should we worry? These people are obviously-"</span><br/>Nash interrupted,<span style="font-weight: bold">Survival, Guard, is our objective. We may appear paranoid, but it's better that than caught unawares."</span><br/>He waved the guards away and gave the Runner a shove out of the doors.<br/>When he next turned to the diplomats, his face was grim. Nash stalked up to the table, and placed his hands with restrained calm on the table. He was not angry, not at them. "Who lives in the tundra? What peoples populate that barren wasteland?"<br/>It went without saying that if a Steed was alone, the rider was dead.<br/><br/>((<span style="font-weight: bold">Bold</span>represents Slayer speak cause I'm lazy. ))