>>5925514“Your Majesty,” he addresses the Queen, ignoring you, “the so-called Sylvan Realm of our traitorous surface-kin have presumably had access to such food sources for a long while, and have no shared them. They have let your poor and hungry farmers suffer terrible winters and the recent,… Unpleasantness with the Dragonborn without any magical berries or other such food sources being provided. Now, by all indications, they seem to be ending their alliance with your people, and if they mean to make war, such a strategic resource kept only within their own lands would be an INCREDIBLE advantage.”
“It’s not ONLY in their own lands if Tips is growin’ it right near Hawksong, though, is it?” Zith-Zi demands, looking rather smug at having latched upon a point of a conversation that—by your judgement—seemed to have been going over her head up until now.
“True,” the dark elf diplomat—Jhaamdat, another odd name—says, and holds up an ashen finger. “But having a patch of safe territory under the province of foreign gods and spirits, semi-independent and right in the heart of Human civilization, a short march from Hawksong, which can feed those DOING the besieging… That is also a fine thing, for those who would make war.”
“Right,” you spit, “this coming from the ones who SENT dragons to burn our fields AND the chimera-plague which -I- cured, AND whose Dragon King is the reason for all this friction to begin with?!”
“So you admit that there is friction, then, darthiir?”
“Darthiir?” you ask, confused by the unusual term. “What?”
“It’s a swear,” Zith-Zi says authoritatively. “Racist, too. You can tell by the way his lips goes all curly and he squints when he says it.”
Ambassador Jhaamdath’s expression abruptly turns very very neutral, while the Queen frowns at him.
“Enough,” you sigh. “What, exactly, did you lot tell your ‘Dragon King’ to DO about it?”
“A Dragon commands,” the Thief asserts, almost proudly. “This one obeys. There is no ‘telling’ The Copper Dragon King, Ignorant One.”
“Weird flex, braggin’ about bein’ a little BITCH,” Zith-Zi snorts, which provokes the dark elven swordsman to guffaw, and the Thief to hiss—actually HISS!—with irritation.
