"In the Lady's name, settle down," Arathorne bristled, his thumb and index finger clasped at both his temples in a show of dismay, but no matter how rude it may have seemed, Arathorne thought, it was necessary. This court was no united nation, and this court held no disciplined politician. The peoples of the continent revealed their true selves now. The Kyndran was a rash warrior woman, the Oschelon a cowering weakling, the Cryxian was an aberration that invoked a feeling of wrongness even as Arathorne looked upon him, and Deathbane already began to glow with fey-light in the abomination's presence.<br/><br/>Arathorne noticed the blade glowing, annoyed, but the light had began to dim after the Cryxian left, bringing his bodyguard thrall with him as he left. The doors seemed to crash closed as a great wind pulsated through the room and slammed them shut, almost as if the Lady herself had beckoned the Cryxians to leave and never come back. Now that Deathbane had dimmed, Arathorne saw it fit to stand and speak.<br/><br/>His bodyguard knights turned their helmeted heads towards him as he stood to his height, chainmail ringing as he moved. A moment of silence passed through the courtroom as Arathorne looked in the direction of the departing prince, before the doors closed themselves with the blow of a strong wind to the right. "Britannia's army is assembled. The question is which few of you would stand with her." His sight played over all the politicians before him, paying especial attention towards the bickering couple that were the Oschelon and Kyndran.<br/><br/>"Britannia has brought a host a hundred thousand strong, a mere fraction of what we can muster. With numbers such as these, victory is all but assured." Arathorne paused as the diplomats began to whisper amongst each other, the rustle of robes followed by the jangling of jewelry or belted weapons echoing about the courtroom. "A hundred thousand fine warriors riding by your side. Imagine that," he continued, tapping on the side of his head with a finger softly, a cue for the men and women within the room to realize the potential strength that the Britannians have brought.<br/><br/>"Now is not the time for bickering nor war amongst each other. Foolish mistakes like that, we can no longer afford. The Slayer have proved they are a powerful opponent, no matter how arrogant they may be. You can fight amongst yourselves and die out even as the Slayer annihilate you. Worse, you can surrender to them with your tails between your legs and serve as their dogs for a lifetime, letting the generations to come share the shame with your cowardice." Arathorne pointed at a group of men and women that have been contemplating surrender even as he said his last words, and they turned their heads down in shame as the combined weight of the congregation's stares bore on their shoulders.<br/><br/>"Or, you can stand with me, and become<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">legends!</span></span>The Lady has given you - us, her blessing. Our hosts are strong. Our enemy underestimates us. We will grind them beneath our heels, wrest your lost lands back from their grubby hands, and avenge your brothers that have fallen beneath their blades. Let glory and victories unnumbered be ours!"