Rising next was none other than the champion of House Blackwell, the dragon-scale clad soldier Beatrice Blackwell. Her armor, purely of utilitarian desire is ceremonial by proxy of its origins. The woman is wearing the scales of dragons, which shimmer with iridescence as she rises. She carries with her, still, her customary wooden greatsword. Even to a meeting such as this the woman refused to be disarmed- it was her right as a soldier to bear her ceremonial gear.
She clears her throat, and slams a hand into her chest in a warrior's salute, the solid 'thump' a distinct call for attention.
"I am Beatrice Blackwell, Princess of Alenius and Champion of my family. My sister, Naomi Blackwell, and I stand here in the stead of my father, and carry the full weight and authority of his voice and stature as king. I stand here before you all as equals, with the best interests of Formaroth in my heart, and my father's words in my mind. There is one critical piece of business that House Blackwell must make known before our formal stance on the rulership of the nation can be made."
She stands at attention, dropping her salute.
"Houses Staghain, Sutharland, and Blackwell have entered into a mutual defensive alliance, and Houses Staghain and Sutharland have offered their backing to the voice of House Blackwell. We seek not to alienate or aggress any, simply unite our causes and seek a mutual goal. Which Mister De Reimer was so kind as to bring up and address..."
She raises a hand to gesture across the table to Duncan, nodding to him with dutiful respect.
"However, my sister is the one my father has delegated to speak on the main topic. My presence here is as advisor, bodyguard, and supple...suppl...associating...additional..." she sucked in a breath and calmed herself, anger flashing behind her eyes as she struggled to find the right word.
"She's here to introduce father's wishes directly, whereas I'm to speak on the issues at hand objectively." Naomi cut in, placing a hand on Beatrice's arm from where she was seated.
The young girl was an incredibly stark contrast to all those present- she was in her teens, a youth, and one unknown to combat and courly graces. She was, for all intensive purposes, simply a common girl who happened to bear the title 'princess'- and all knew she was a treasure of the Old Man's, a dearly protected and cherished object of the kingdom of Alenius.
On more than one occasion, The Old Man has remarked that he'd let fire destroy Formaroth and the Elves dominate the land before he let harm come to his little girl.
Beatrice looked down to the girl and stepped back, nodding. Naomi then chewed her lip out of nervousness, a tic she couldn't quite drop, and lifted up the cup she had requested upon entering the chamber and being seated- a mug of milk, of all things. She drank from the milk and lifted a hand, signaling she was not finished speaking.
"The defensive alliance with Sutharland and Staghain was brought up first in the spirit of fair play and good will. We did not wish to bring it up later in the discussions and risk the possible declaration of secret alliances and illicit dealings, nor the possible allegations of power grabs. Let it be known, now, that Blackwell supports nobody for the position of king as of the beginning of these negotiations. Perhaps, through the coming conversation, our position may be swayed- but as it stands, Formaroth will split unless unified decision can be made. I'd like to think we can all come to some sort of agreement, but if we can't..."
She sets her mug down, wiping the milk from her mouth.
"And...well...to my understanding, mister De Reimer, other people are probably going to have different opinions on the matter, and I think we should allow all who wish to make a claim step forth and do so, and look at the situation objectively so as to decide who would be best for king- not most qualified, but best. I assure you that I believe I'm quite reasonable- I'm no politician, I'm a mediator. Have been my whole life. That being said, I'm done speaking for now- someone else can go ahead and say their piece. Death's No Stranger."
She concluded her speech with a somewhat comical salute. She seemed legitimately excited about it all. The weight and power of an entire kingdom, as well as the influence and backing of two others, was rested upon the shoulders of a sixteen year old girl bearing the name Blackwell. It was impossible to even comprehend such a scenario occurring, yet here it was.
