Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-25808351-20181210043928

(Everyone) Jorge marches at a steadfast and yet subtle pace, throughout the castle. He passes groups of servants working frantically, Vampire Countesses who converse of Armata’s status, all the while crossing through great halls and rooms adorned with grand tapestries, elegant statues and fabled items encased in glass. With his knowledge of this vast structure, he makes to Armata’s throne room relatively quickly. Not needing the guard’s permission to enter the ceremonial hall of the Covenant’s master, Jorge strides past the armed knights and into the vast marble room.

Armata alone sits upon his throne, surrounded by arguing nobles, Vampire countesses and generals, all concerned over the current threat facing them. Imperia is the only other familiar face Jorge can see, standing by her master’s side with calm poise and refined beauty, here amongst these squabbling privileged lot, she is in her element.

“Please, ladies, gentlemen. It is not the most positive situation, but it is our situation. My lord has spoken, and it is time you all keep to your vows and pledges, and lend your strength if needed.” Imperia speaks up above the crowd, her strength and talents as a leader are personified by the crowd’s sudden silence.

“But Lady Imperia, we made no pledges to fight gods of foreign worlds or realms.” A nobleman of the Desert Region protests.

“On the contrary. When you joined the Covenant, you pledged to serve and fight all whom threaten it’s livelihood. Thus you swore allegiance to Lord Armata. And this Pramool, is our Lord’s foe. Making him, OUR foe.” Imperia retorts to the disgruntled nobleman.

“But we hadn’t-.” The nobleman falls silent as the most powerful hand in the room rises. Armata’s hand. His motion is known by all as a call for silence. Jorge can see it in the ancient Vampire’s face. He is tired, stressed, agitated, doing his best to maintain his composure, alone he sits being the only one with no roots to this world.

The Lord looks up, and sees Jorge at the back of the room. “All of you, get out. The Knight and I have business to discuss.” Armata’s tone is low, and boarders on aggressiveness.

The nobleman looks over his shoulder at Jorge, making eye contact with the Knight. Jorge takes note of the man’s bronze skin, exotic clothing and wild black beard.

“This Knight? This disgraced Order Knight, takes priority over us! The is absurd my Lord! He has nothing to his name here, he is but a beggar give refuge. He should be executed or at least locked away for all he has seen here! Lest he report back to his compatriots and speak our most intimate details!” The nobleman’s rage clouded his thoughts and in turn poisoned his reasoning. He had chosen the wrong words.

“I, I have faced Jorge in combat. And I have bled alongside him.” Armata rises out of his throne, and unnaturally glides to the nobleman. “He has stood by me against this threat that makes you giver from words alone. He has offered his life, while you have only contributed your irritating voice. Had I no loyalties to my subjects.... I would flay you alive with my claws, and hand your corpse from the ramparts by your intestines.”

Time seems to stop as Armata delivers his threat, but Jorge knew best. Armata never lied. His threat was a promise, a declaration of the nobleman’s fading chances. The Lord of this castle was loyal, and loyalty was the only thing keeping this offender alive.

Without a word, everyone departed. Imperia was the last to leave, bowing before her master as he strode back to his throne and sat with a thud. As Imperia walked by Jorge, she placed a hand on his shoulder pad, looking sad from everything that has happened.

“He considers you a friend, try to cheer him up.” She whispers, before leaving. Alone in the throne room, Jorge turns to Armata and greeted as if he’s the one relief Armata has had in a decade.

“Never lead a vast conglomerate of dignitaries, Jorge. I think this prattle has taken more years from my life than the damn Mutt.”