A Hollow Mask - The Perfect Disguise?

Sometime in the future.

It's good to be king.

Being a king meant having the best fu-frikkin' cigars whenever he so much as opened his talons. The best meals and desserts where just a look and a nod away, while the bed was so deliciously soft that anyone would be excused if they confused it with a cloud...

And if he wanted to give this white-clad griffin the private audience he wanted, that was what everyone was going to hear. The guy looked less stiff than... well, ninety-nine point nine percent of the advisers; those guys make rocks seem inviting and comforting.

Bah! He invoked the law, requesting the audience at the king's discretion, and he agreed. Opposition be d-darned, he needed some stimulating conversation, and debates were better when the other side disagreed with you.

Walking to his private study, he didn't bat an eyelash at the old heirlooms of the royal line that adorned the hallways... he didn't care about the old armors, the paintings, the vases... no, he was a king, and he had big plans! Plans capable of changing the world! This young griffin might be awed by the magnificence of his castle - no matter how nonchalant he acted- but as the owner of all these treasures, he had his eyes firmly set upon the goal.

He walked with dignity. That old limp detracted nothing from his regal, commanding aura; the servants seemed surprised at his ease of movement, but he told them that this was simply the best day he had in years.

Even the white-robed griffin with the leather bracers felt some admiration towards him, even though his views on the current state of affairs were... different from the ones of, well, every single griffin in the council.

Being who he was and knowing what he did, he already knew the general direction of the events.

He expressed amusement at the youth's plea.

The griffin wearing the white, hooded cloak told him that he only wanted what was best for all.

He said the same; the country is, after all, making big moves.

There are bigger things in play than the country.

Yes, and he was pulling the strings in those events.

More (well-disguised) pleading, arguments against following the original plan, and even a little beseeching of his better nature followed.

He had a plan, however, and he could not be stopped.

Heck, so good was his plan, that he acknowledged the thin, rapier-like blade coming out of the brace and stuck into his chest as a possible outcome of his pacing about.

It hurt, but he had to admit, the kid had good aim.

"Kid, you cannot stop the incoming war with just this." He coughed. "You'd need a plan, and one where you actually hold any cards. I need you to deliver a message..."