Throne Room <Fastheld Keep: Palace District>

The high ceilings of this gray stone chamber are supported by rows of massive columns along an aisle that features a purple carpet that extends from the arched entrance to the Emperor's throne room and ends at the first step of the dais that holds the gleaming majesty of the Imperial throne - a chair of gold, armrests encrusted in jewels, back and seat cushioned with stuffed pillows covered with crimson velvet.
Torches flicker in stanchions attached to the columns. The fluttering wings and twitter of birds can occasionally be heard in the shadows overhead, where the fowl have nested after coming into the estate through one of the balconies or the courtyard.
The seal of Fastheld - a crown within a dark, unbroken circle - is on the tapestry that hangs behind and above the throne of Talus Kahar.

Talus Kahar sits upon the throne of Fastheld Keep, one hand draped over his right knee, the other bracing his chin while the elbow sits on a chair arm. He appears thoughtful, brooding in the flickering torchlight. The usual contingent of Bladesman can be seen flanking the doors into and out of the throne room.

Gell Mikin strides into the room, his black cloak fluttering behind him, the gold mongoose of House Mikin holding it to his shoulder. He strides down the aisle, his heavy boots thudding on the floor until he comes to the dais, and genuflects, falling to one knee with his cloak pooling around him, his head down, "Your Majesty." he says.

"Surrector," the Emperor replies, straightening from his thoughtful repose. "I trust you are well."

Gell Mikin looks up, the torchlight flashing off his bald skull "I am, Majesty."

Talus Kahar smiles faintly. "Anything pressing that your Emperor must consider? Or do you merely come to enjoy the pleasure of my company?"

Gell Mikin frowns gently, his eyes very dark in the dim light, his hands resting on his bent knee, "Majesty, there was an incident in at the Lightholder Tavern yesterday. There was an attempt by a cutpurse to rob your cousin, Lord Alath." He pauses for a moment, "I believe if crime has reached the level of assaults on Royal Persons, Your Majesty should consider a sweep of the shadow quarter, and the summary execution of all suspicious persons. I should say that one or two hundred given to the Blades should send a message."

"Was Alath harmed?" the Emperor inquires.

Gell Mikin shakes his head, "No, Majesty, the timely intervention of two of your Blades who were very fortunately in the tavern at the time stopped the street rat from harming your noble cousin."

Talus Kahar nods slowly, letting both hands settle on the armrests of his throne. He then shakes his head. "I cannot condone the execution of hundreds of people - even if they *are* peasants - just because my Blades were forced to do their appointed tasks. The cutpurse was punished, yes?"

"In the manner required by the law, Majesty." The surrector says, "However, Your Majesty must realise that we are not referring to the execution of your Majesty's lawful subjects, rather those who are breaking Your Majesty's laws."

"I realize precisely what you are referring to," the Emperor replies gloomily. "Gell, you are always one for the heavy handed example. I know you relish sending a message to anyone who would so much as breathe a hint of treason against the crown. It is one of your most valued qualities. If you wish to send a message in this instance, put the head of the cutpurse on a pike at the Crossroads for a week or so."

Gell Mikin nods, his head dropping for a moment, "As Your Majesty commands. The order shall leave by the fastest horse immediately." He frowns for a moment, "Perhaps a tournament, then, to keep Your Majesty's forces occupied?"

Talus Kahar smiles. "If you wish, make the proper arrangements and open the application process for merchants. A distraction may well be beneficial. Since the Hillcrest Brigands fell last year to Hartnek's men, it has been altogether too quiet for the soldiery."

"As Your Majesty Commands. I shall do so at once. If I may, perhaps a fine suit of armour as a prize for the winner? One valued at perhaps five thousand Imperials? Such a prize should draw all of the worthiest fighters within the Aegis to provide for Your Majesty's entertainment."

"Armor, and a proper fitting, I should think," the Emperor agrees. "Yes, that should do."

Gell Mikin smiles, his lips splitting only the slightest bit as he agrees, "Aye, Majesty. By your leave, I shall make the arrangements at once." He then pauses, waiting to be dismisse.d

"Keep in the Light, Surrector," the Emperor replies, by way of dismissal.

Gell Mikin stands silently, and then backs out of the throne room.

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