04-13-2016, 02:21 PM
To say the war has occupied the majority of his thoughts would be a gross understatement.
Ramiel had barely spared consideration for any other politics while the inter-kingdom conflict spread its greedy fingers across Beqanna, snatching the Dale into its unyielding grasp. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten their allies in the mess. The Jungle’s friendship had been the primary motivator for them to join in the fight, after all. But their relations with the other kingdoms had become like a pond, murky and stagnant. He no longer knew where they stood with their once-allies of the Tundra and Falls. The Brotherhood had been increasingly silent in their dealings with the Dale to the point where Ramiel considered it a dead deal. And the Falls had become similarly tight-lipped after the passing of Tiberios. They hadn’t even sent a delegation to announce what the ghost-king already knew (the aftermath he had witnessed first-hand, much to his disgust and deep sorrow). But he hadn’t paid it much attention at the time.
There was far more to worry about than silence from those sitting on the side-lines.
Now, with the sinking of the unrest and the smoothing of once-turbulent waters, they can re-establish their bonds. He’s glad the Falls has taken the initiative to finally send a diplomat. The other neutral kingdom has proven themselves far more neutral than the Dale has ever been. And while he respects their decision to remain out of the war (for whatever good reason he’s sure they have) he doubts his brother would have remained passive in the face of battle. Perhaps a small part of him resents the water-inclined territory for the inactivity.
Either way, it doesn’t show on his face when the stallion reveals his homeland. He dips his head in acknowledgement, about to inquire further, when Weir appears. Or rather, a supernatural blizzard defiant in the throes of summer sweeps into the clearing. Weir materializes from the swirling white, accompanied by his constant testudine companion, Darwin. The red roan offers Kreios another greeting as the remaining snowflakes quickly evaporate in the heat. Ramiel is always glad to see his odd friend, and he spares him an easy grin before turning back to the foreigner.
Partial foreigner, that is. “Ah,” the grey begins, wondering how long ago it must have been for the spotted man since he stepped foot into the Dale. It immediately but marginally softens him to the Falls resident; anyone born in the mountain land is still a part of their extended family, no matter how many miles are between them now. “Well you haven’t moved too far away, then. The Falls are a natural second choice.” He grins again to show his jest, hoping Kreios is game enough for the dig. His mother had taught him all of the rulers she knew of the Dale. His education had been both thorough and lasting; Ramiel thinks the man’s dam couldn’t have been anyone else but Lyric. But without Kreios’ willingness to dwell on the subject, he acquiesces and moves on.
He listens as the other talks about confirming their alliance. The fact that the neutral kingdom believes it to still be in effect is reassuring – it had never died out in Ramiel’s eyes, anyway. “The Dale would most likely be agreeable to a continued alliance with the Falls. But I would like to meet with its new monarch before it is set in stone.” His golden eyes find Weir’s amber ones, curious to know the man’s thoughts on the matter. As one of the aforementioned warriors who had put their life on the line, would he be worried that they were allying with the passive Falls? At least they would have time to discuss it before anything was concrete. The charcoal stallion turns back to Kreios. “What does the king or queen have in mind as far as terms and conditions on this alliance? The Dale will not be sending a member to live there, if that policy is still in effect.”
Ramiel had barely spared consideration for any other politics while the inter-kingdom conflict spread its greedy fingers across Beqanna, snatching the Dale into its unyielding grasp. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten their allies in the mess. The Jungle’s friendship had been the primary motivator for them to join in the fight, after all. But their relations with the other kingdoms had become like a pond, murky and stagnant. He no longer knew where they stood with their once-allies of the Tundra and Falls. The Brotherhood had been increasingly silent in their dealings with the Dale to the point where Ramiel considered it a dead deal. And the Falls had become similarly tight-lipped after the passing of Tiberios. They hadn’t even sent a delegation to announce what the ghost-king already knew (the aftermath he had witnessed first-hand, much to his disgust and deep sorrow). But he hadn’t paid it much attention at the time.
There was far more to worry about than silence from those sitting on the side-lines.
Now, with the sinking of the unrest and the smoothing of once-turbulent waters, they can re-establish their bonds. He’s glad the Falls has taken the initiative to finally send a diplomat. The other neutral kingdom has proven themselves far more neutral than the Dale has ever been. And while he respects their decision to remain out of the war (for whatever good reason he’s sure they have) he doubts his brother would have remained passive in the face of battle. Perhaps a small part of him resents the water-inclined territory for the inactivity.
Either way, it doesn’t show on his face when the stallion reveals his homeland. He dips his head in acknowledgement, about to inquire further, when Weir appears. Or rather, a supernatural blizzard defiant in the throes of summer sweeps into the clearing. Weir materializes from the swirling white, accompanied by his constant testudine companion, Darwin. The red roan offers Kreios another greeting as the remaining snowflakes quickly evaporate in the heat. Ramiel is always glad to see his odd friend, and he spares him an easy grin before turning back to the foreigner.
Partial foreigner, that is. “Ah,” the grey begins, wondering how long ago it must have been for the spotted man since he stepped foot into the Dale. It immediately but marginally softens him to the Falls resident; anyone born in the mountain land is still a part of their extended family, no matter how many miles are between them now. “Well you haven’t moved too far away, then. The Falls are a natural second choice.” He grins again to show his jest, hoping Kreios is game enough for the dig. His mother had taught him all of the rulers she knew of the Dale. His education had been both thorough and lasting; Ramiel thinks the man’s dam couldn’t have been anyone else but Lyric. But without Kreios’ willingness to dwell on the subject, he acquiesces and moves on.
He listens as the other talks about confirming their alliance. The fact that the neutral kingdom believes it to still be in effect is reassuring – it had never died out in Ramiel’s eyes, anyway. “The Dale would most likely be agreeable to a continued alliance with the Falls. But I would like to meet with its new monarch before it is set in stone.” His golden eyes find Weir’s amber ones, curious to know the man’s thoughts on the matter. As one of the aforementioned warriors who had put their life on the line, would he be worried that they were allying with the passive Falls? At least they would have time to discuss it before anything was concrete. The charcoal stallion turns back to Kreios. “What does the king or queen have in mind as far as terms and conditions on this alliance? The Dale will not be sending a member to live there, if that policy is still in effect.”
R A M I E L
this is a man pulling at his iron chains