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[Cal Hurst]

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Vaen sat at the Legion Recruit Guildhouse with a pen and paper, trying to think of what to write to Silent Poet. He came to him the other day with a proposition that could mean the end of Tarothin Armunn. However, as powerful as Tarothin may be now, he is not invincible, and the Legion has taken him down before. If Vaen were to take Poet up on this proposition, Vaen would then have to vouch for Poet and his guild to have a seat in the Regency. "The Regency?" Vaen thought. "But they're just minstrels. It makes no sense..."

Vaen glanced around the room as he thought some more. "Silent and Tarothin might be good friends. I know Silent and Ditto talk. So why would Silent even try this? And... if Silent and Tarothin are friends, and if he ends up getting a seat on the Regency, the Dark Order would be admitted to the Regency since they lost by one vote; one vote that was brought forth by the Regent himself since the council guilds voted a tie." Vaen sighed and shook his head slowly. "I can't take him up on his offer."

Vaen began to write.

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Poet,

I am going to have to refuse your offer about the reversal ritual. While it may help in the long run, it is not a "do or die" situation. I thank you for your offer, and if there is anything else you need, never hesitate to ask.

signed
Lord Vaen Swiftar
Proconsul
Legion of Justice

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[Silent Poet]

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Vaen,

Good tidings unto thou and thine.

I am glad ye have decided to turn down my offer. I have had a change of heart, and no longer seek a seat on the regency council. I think that perhaps it would just be a bunch of boring meetings.

However, I should let ye know that I have been in discussions with the Army of Azeroth about that very offer. Although I dinna think they could get me a seat in the regency council, there could be other benefits.

I am no sure that this kind of information should be in the hands of the Lich Lord. I do however have to think of what might benefit my band of Minstrels in the long run.

Be well and lead with honour as you always do.

Signed with a celtic flourish,

Silent Poet
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"When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell." - John Dryden