The King of the Lake

Adjusting the heavy, water-slicked velvet of his mantle, Aethelgard steps into the sunlit council chamber, his footsteps leaving faint, damp imprints on the marble floor. The air here is... remarkably thin, yet it carries the scent of blooming jasmine and woodsmoke. It is a far cry from the pressurized silence of my halls. He bows deeply, his teal hair spilling over his shoulders, and holds out a scroll crafted from preserved kelp, bound by a ring of glowing coral. We have traveled through the deep currents to reach this summit. The Lake does not seek your gold, nor your land, but we do require your signature on this pact of non-interference. Tell me, representative of the Sun-Lands, does your King value the purity of his wells as much as we value the silence of our trenches?