Dante's declaration of independence hit like a bomb.
The silence shattered. Shock turned quickly into pure unfiltered rage.
The polite, civilized masks of the assembled leaders cracked. Revealing the iron-hard arrogance underneath.
Lord Rowan Thalric, the stoic king of the north, was the first to erupt.
CRACK!
He slammed a gauntleted fist onto the stone armrest of his seat. The sound was sharp and loud. Echoing through the amphitheater.
He rose to his feet. His face was a mask of furious disbelief. His eyes blazed like a winter storm.
"You mere fool!" he roared. His voice was harsh. Grinding. "What are you? You speak of threats and protection, but you know nothing of the world you now stand in!"
"You speak of consequences, but you cannot even begin to understand them!"
He took a step forward. His presence like a mountain. Raw physical power radiating from him.
"You may be a hero in the eyes of common folk. A little legend born from a month of hardship."
