[Mini Event] bellatrix audet concurrere viris

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Silent, stoic, and stalwart, remaining amidst as just one more monolith amongst the crowd; a proud pulse along the attuned connections towards Amalia for standing her ground, an accord of curiosity bounding along the rest of the ruminations. By the time Wessex finally delivered her speech, he’d already known a multitude of the decisions, of the calculations, notched by those who’d been around for these triumphs, for these pitfalls, her lines drawn quickly, efficiently, and then no inquiries. Nothing for them to ask. Nothing for them to sift through, to understand, to delve deeper into. A coward’s way out, or simply understanding where everything had begun to fall? He displayed little to no reaction throughout the display, even as she disappeared into oblivion (new powers, or something of the old; recalling Jigano’s mention of the Voice offering her more and more). They had their options. So now what? He was only mildly surprised when Loren stepped forward to give and grant his proclamation; seemingly days before, they’d discussed the possibilities and parameters of this eventual discourse. Amalia had told him of some of the ongoings behind other conversations (how he’d expressed no wish to reign, except for now, perhaps inspired by Wessex’s lecture, how he’d tried to explain the very history of this world to one who’d lived amongst its legends and secrets for her entire life). In some parts, he understood where the Launcelyn was coming from. Unfortunately, the stain of the name, no matter how disowned, seemed to puncture and pierce, rankle and dismay, some of the others gathered. The Sword listened to the rest, some statements agreeable, especially considering a council. How many times had their kings and queens either failed or simply didn’t want it any longer? Reigning was difficult, was trying, and by now hordes of them had deigned themselves unsuitable or done with the entire lot. Why not a group – much like their rebellious fortitudes had mustered together, down in basements – without hackles raised, without massive egos, be the ones to manage the world? The ones who cared? The ones who gave a damn? His gaze went to Rexanna as she spoke, and though his features never rearranged from their reticent measures, he was proud of her too; merely nodding in her direction, even if she couldn’t see it. Then he went to cast his vote too, another decision, another measure, stuck to their plains of history. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace