Diplomacy Dark Diplomacy: The Herald's Quest for Alliance

[KingofGreed]

Introduction:

The sun had barely risen over the jagged peaks of the far west when the Herald of King Damian M. Leblanc arrived at the desolate borders of the Hobgoblin territory. For two weeks, his journey had been marked by a trail of death and misery, a testament to the severity of his king's intent. With each passing day, he drew closer to his goal: forging an alliance against the Night Court and their sinister monarch, Marcus Aumont, King of the Abhartach.

Now, the Herald stood at the threshold of an uncertain future, the weight of his mission heavy upon his shoulders. Clad in dark, travel-worn garb, his presence was as foreboding as the thunderclouds gathering overhead. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the rugged landscape for signs of the Hobgoblins he had come to negotiate with.

The wind whispered tales of impending conflict, carrying with it the scent of iron and decay. As the Herald crossed into the Hobgoblin domain, he knew that his every word and action could determine the fate of countless lives. The alliance with the Hobgoblins was crucial to King Leblanc's strategy, and failure was not an option.

This is where our story begins. The Herald, a harbinger of both doom and opportunity, must now navigate the treacherous waters of diplomacy amidst a race known for their fierceness and cunning. Will the Hobgoblins heed his call for unity against the Night Court, or will they see him as just another enemy to vanquish? Only time, and the negotiations to come, will reveal the path forward.

Welcome to Dark Diplomacy: The Herald's Quest for Alliance. Let the delicate dance of power and persuasion begin.

 

[The Herald]

His presence swept across the countryside like a plague. Death followed in his wake. Life itself seemed to drain from the land as he walked, a miasma of pestilence. Flora shriveled and turned to ash. Fauna made a wide berth for the creature that threatened their very existence. Those of them that were too slow, perished. Neither predator nor prey were safe. They fell to the ground where they stood, birds seemingly dropping from the sky.

The sun beamed down on his pale grey skin, a light sheen of sweat from the heat making itself apparent on his flesh. His clothing was lightly soaked through and his face hidden beneath a solid black veil. Only his red eyes, a pair of twin burning coals, could be seen. No weapon could be seen on his person. Anyone that saw him would agree that he did not need one, though.

He had long since lost his name, a word so easily forgotten over centuries of life. No, all that remained was a title. The role that he played for a higher existence than his own. Across the world, he was known as the Herald.

Herald of the Selfborn.

Under strict orders from the King, the Herald had made his way across the continent. He needed to seek out the Hobgoblins and form an alliance. King Damian had entrusted him with full authority to negotiate on his behalf, a trust that stemmed from just over a century of service to the sovereign. His breath came out like a thick cloud of steam, almost seeming to choke the air itself around him. The creature masquerading as a man wheezed in laughter.

‘If I were a filthy Goblin, where might I hide?’

He had luckily made good time on the road, finding himself deep within the Hobgoblin’s territory in under a fortnight. Now he need only locate one of their settlements to track down whatever passed as their leader. Someone high enough on the totem pole to speak for the rest of the Hobgoblins. Something that he, to his dismay, realized was not as simple as he would have liked to believe. They did not operate in the same manner as the humanoid races.

Frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

King Damian’s grace eventually blessed him with a clue, though. Tracks in the road. They were clearly inhuman and traveling in a small group. Maybe a hunting party? Either way, it was a step in the right direction. He followed the trail like a bloodhound, going so far as to sniff the air itself in an effort to catch their scent.

The Herald proceeded to trapeze his way down the road, a hurried gate to his steps. After having been on the road for a couple weeks… well, demon or not, he enjoyed a soft bed to relax in and hot food to warm his belly. Surely the Hobgoblins had something along those lines? They were intelligent enough to threaten the King of the Abhartach.

He saw no reason that they would lack in such a manner.

The Herald grumbled.