Domino Effect

One of Basilisk’s guards emerged from behind the behemoth, presenting two, large glasses meant for the booze. The Warlord shuffled them in his paws, opened the bottle, and poured them a drink. Rhazien didn’t hesitate to grab a mug, nodding a silent thanks before bringing it to his lips. The sharp scent enveloped his senses, his mouth watering in anticipation of the taste. This stuff was bitter as hell, but potent. Taking a swig, his maw and throat are overtaken with the warmth of the booze, a slow-burning sensation forming in the back of his throat from the ethanol.

Truly, this was a pivotal moment in their interaction - it may have seemed trivial on the outside, but it was an opportunity to build trust. The Syndicate could have poisoned the bottle of liquor with their stores of venom, and Basilisk, could have dusted the mugs in whatever deadly concoction he had behind the walls of the Armada. This cordial interaction was a risk for them both, truly; one Rhazien was happy to take, in the name of The Syndicate.

As Basilisk speaks, Rhazien listens with unwavering attention, his mind processing the message, analyzing his tone, and trying to decipher any underlying intentions. The Armada hadn’t let the Ashen Empire interfere in their affairs in quite some time, which was good to hear. But the Armada and the Hallows were linked in ties of blood, a deep familial loyalty that was to be respected and understood. The Warlord follows with a declaration that makes Rhazien internally grin. He doesn’t have animosity for The Syndicate. Someday, their packs may be linked with blood. Rhazien assumes he is referring to Aresenn’s ties with whatever girl he’s been seeing here. Sneaky pirate boy.

Nodding at key points, Rhazien upholds his aura of receptivity to the Warlord's statements. Once he finishes, he takes another swig of his drink, processing the information and carefully choosing his next words. “When Artorias arrived at the borders of Norad, we’d just taken it over.” He begins. “He was infuriated, spewing threats left and right, trying to order our entire family to leave Ardent and never show our faces again.” His gaze lingers on the deep, azure eyes of Basilisk. “That if we chose to stay, we would be hunted down by himself and the Ashen Empire. That we would all die.” The tone of his voice is far more serious now, and lacking that playful banter from before. Basilisk seemed like a family man - he’d mentioned how important family ties were to him. Surely he’d relate to the rage that burned in Sephiran, having been told his family would be slaughtered if they did not leave. “It was only natural that our Sultan refused Artorias’ demands and declared him an enemy of The Syndicate. We do not take threats of genocide lightly." A short pause. “The Saxe were forged through deep, familial bonds. Survival is in our nature, and we’ve learned to flourish in the dark corners of this world. We’ve been painted as malicious, savage creatures, having uprooted the Norad pack to claim their spot in this everchanging world of politics. But everything we do is in the name of our family, our safety, and our success.” He falls silent then, wanting the Warlord to process his words. Then, he’d move onto the circulating topic of neutrality.

“I feared we’d been declared enemies in every corner of the continent. We did not know the extent of the Ashen Empire…” His voice trails off, as a contemplative expression tugs at his features. “Our Sultan will be pleased with your neutrality.” He says, nodding his head to signal his agreement with the gesture. “I will propose the friendly raid to Sephiran. Perhaps we can consider this a step in a direction beyond neutrality.” At this time, he didn’t know much about the Armada beyond their location, their market, and the Warlord’s interest in raiding. But perhaps with time and more interaction, they may find they are more similarly aligned than they previously thought. “The Syndicate resides to the East, just beyond the Northern Wall- we’ve overtaken The Polar Sound and Ardens Glacies.” Basilisk would need to know where their pack was if he didn’t already. “Our warriors will be awaiting your arrival.” With one last nod, Rhazien concludes the topic of the friendly raid, unless Basilisk had something else to say.

"Speech"