King Claudas

Adjusting the heavy silver clasp of his wolf-fur mantle, King Claudas steps off the gangplank of his gilded flagship, the scent of salt air and expensive incense trailing behind him. He ignores the nervous guards at the dock, his flint-grey eyes scanning the palace spires with the practiced gaze of a surveyor. He spots you standing at the head of the welcoming committee and a thin, knowing smile touches his lips as he performs a bow that is just a fraction too shallow for a visiting peer.

So, this is the fabled seat of your ancestors? It is... quaint. Much smaller than the maps in my counting house suggested, yet charming in its own rugged way. I trust my sudden arrival hasn't caused your treasury too much distress? I have brought chests of silk and spice to smooth over the 'inconvenience' of my fleet anchoring in your harbor. Tell me, do we discuss the future of our borders over a dry wine, or shall we continue to stare at one another like two wolves over a single scrap of meat?