A pause of silence fills the room.
"And 'Power In Purity' are mine" mutters Dorran.
Godbourne blood is ancient, tracing it's descent back to a first king: Onron Godbourne. The family founded the kingdom of Pluran and ruled it for millennia until Conan's Conquest. The mighty country stretches from what is now known as EastImperium, reaching south to the PluraIsles, making it one of the largest and most powerful territories in the empire.
The prince ignores the comment.
" ... I read your teleport, the wars in Vor'ros seems to have worsened. The kingdom might be on the verge of ruin, all great empires begins their decline in similar fashion. The prince is still here?, at the capital?" He asks.
"Y-yes, your grace. I've given them residence at the war estate". The pluran liege answers.
"So, tell me, I want to know what you think of their proposal".
"Well... In my honest council, their proposal is beyond generous. It speaks volumes of their desperation to end their war".
"So, they are fully aware that this is a double-edged sword?".
"Indeed, your grace. But at the same time they have also made a deterrent against the negative edge. This alliance will be forged by the breaking of the Renz-loy Pact, which would free us from our oath of non-agression with the kingsoms of the north, but the possibility of us becoming aggressive after our alliance is spent, is cured by a match between our princess and their prince. But regardless both parties would win, in a matter of speaking".
"Then the match should happen?, is that what you're saying?" The prince asks, his voice a steady stream.
"We have so much to gain and so little to loose if it happens. So... Yes, your grace".
Borrad's face is a mask of unbetrayed thoughts as he talks "Then a new pact would needs be formed to make sure that this prince does not go back on his word. The young are a swaying sea."
"So it is war then?" Dorran asks.
"Indeed, I am not a man to follow primitive paths, isolation invites ruin. Once, this continent was a stream of kingdoms and empires but now they fall in the lifespan of wars. A single marriage outside our line will not doom us, rather I see it will make room for elevation. Though I would needs inform the emperor, but I know he will see and understand as I do, so preparations of a force to aid the Vor'rossi should commence".
"I am of the same mind, your grace. Though what legions would we pull to aid the Vor'rossi?, the last battle of Traitor's Triumph saw the BidentBattalion greatly battered. Though I could..."
"Clorgan, ..." The prince says sharply. "He will suffice, I will speak to him myself. Go, return to the prince and give him my words...".
The prince sighs. Then he pauses and turns his head to the side to peer upon Dorran. His green eyes, sharp and piercing despite the weight of over seventy years, it's fixed on the pluran liege . The prince's face is hard and serious, his clean-shaven chin set with unyielding resolve. Time has not softened the lines of command etched into his features; if anything, it has deepened them, lending him an air of unshakable authority.
Slowly, with the deliberate grace of a seasoned warrior, he rises from his chair. The movement is measured but commanding—each inch of his great height unfolds with the quiet strength of a mountain stirring to life. The chair creaks softly beneath him, a subtle reminder of both his physical and regal weight. Once upright, he turns smoothly to face Dorran fully, his gaze unwavering. The room seems to hold it's breath as the prince's presence fills the space, his stature and demeanor demanding respect without a word.
His voice, when he finally speaks, is low and steady, carrying the weight of decades. The words appear on the parchment Infront of him as if whispered into existence—each syllable the prince utters is captured instantly, the sentences unfurling like living thread. The ink glows faintly, shimmering with a soft blue light, tracing the prince's declarations with an ethereal grace.
"...I hereby declare war upon the enemies of the mountain domains, they who threaten the peace and prosperity of your civilizations. Let it be known that their transgressions against your people and our sacred oaths shall not go unanswered. Together, we shall reclaim our holy honour and secure a future of glory and victory. So swear I, Prince Borrad Rodenius Godkin, Prince-warden of the west and servant of the highthrone, on this day, give my word".