Fedor knocked on the door to the King's chamber before walking in. He walked over and saluted to the King before sitting down. He rested his elbows on his knees and began to speak.

"My Leige. I believe it is time for expansion of trade routes with other countries. Would you sponsor a Naval expedition?"

He said, his heavily accented voice now laced with seriousness. He wanted to explore the far off nations in hopes of making Adesia much more wealthy. He also wanted to fight. There were few pirates around. Fewer still with enough reason to chase.

Seated within his study, Ambrose passed his hand across his eyes, falling heavily against the back of his chair, the wood creaking loudly in response, as he shoved the papers he had been pouring over away from him. It was a coded message, freshly delivered from the hands of one of his many spies. Though his network was hardly as large as it should be, his web was slowly expanding. Soon he would have eyes and ears scattered all across his new kingdom, perhaps also even in those foreign courts across the sea. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the man gave a deep, shuddering sigh before opening his eyes and rising from his seat. Grabbing for the pitcher of wine placed nearby, he sloppily poured himself a goblet, a little sloshing down the side and over onto his hand. Absentmindedly licking the droplets from his skin, the king them took a large swig, swirling the heady liquid around in his mouth for a few good moments before swallowing heavily.

A knock at the door of his study caused the king's brow to furrow. He was not expecting any one at such an hour... "Yes?" He called, a little gruffly, setting the goblet down on the edge of his desk with a thunk as he turned to face the doorway. A small smile touched his lips as he recognized the figure of Fedor. "Ah, Commandant," Ambrose acknowledged with a deep nod. "Come in, come in. Wine?" Not bothering waiting for the other's answer, the king poured him a goblet anyway before handing it to him. Though it was a little odd for the king to be serving the commandant, there was no one else in the room to do it for him. Ambrose had dismissed his personal attendants for the night while he dealt with his messages. It wasn't that he didn't trust his servants... oh wait, it was.

Offering Fedor a seat as well, Ambrose then took his own again, reclining back, his fingers wrapping around his goblet, nails clacking against the surface as he regarded the other with his strikingly blue eyes. "Trade routes?" The king prompted, taking another sip of wine, his eyes gazing at his commandant over the rim of the goblet. "An interesting prospect to say the least, Commandant. How costly would such an expedition be?"

Fedor regarded the King casually while he talked.



"It would be quite costly. Enough food for a months long voyage for thousands of men, medical supplies for the same amount of time, and enough shot and powder for the guns. Some snaplock muskets and pistols for each boat would come into use aswell, seeing that we don't know what we will run into."



He said, sipping the wine. He took a breath and began talking again.



"However......If the traders and merchants do not lie......all that and more will be made through various trade routes. There are islands to the south of us. Far south. From what the traders say....there is much money to be made off of them."


He said, taking another sip of wine.

Ambrose nodded, tracing around the rim of his goblet with one of his callused fingertips as he listened to Fedor's words. "Sounds to be quite costly indeed," he murmured, his striking eyes flashing beneath hooded eyelids as he peered at the commandant. Would he have enough in his exchequer to fund such an expedition? Not very long on the throne - and hardly secure in his position - Ambrose was certain his advisors would be adamant against such a large expense. However... his thirst for adventure and also for power threatened to overrule common sense in this situation.

"I'm intrigued," the king admitted, sipping at his wine with an absentminded air as he stared off into the distance, his eyes glazing over as he reflected on his options. He could outright refuse and focus his attention - and funds - instead of matters closer to home... using the money to place bribes and favors in the hands of the right people, people who would and could strengthen his claim as the first king of Adesia. Or, he could agree and be seen as a great ruler - a man of exploration and trade. Surely Duke Westley of Harleston and his cosmology would support such a thing.

"South, you say?"

Spend a little money to make more, Ambrose thought to himself, convincing himself more and more by the second. "I would like to discuss this matter with my advisors," the king responded, though in truth he was already more than halfway convinced.

Fedor nodded knowingly.


"I suppose that would be best, would it not?"


He pulled two oranges from a bag he had with him. He tossed one over to Ambrose and proceeded to peel his own.


"I bought these from traders at the shipyards. They called the Oranges. They're very good."


He said, eating one of the slices. He sweet-tangy juice hit his tongue. They would need to get a constant supply of these.

Ambrose eyed the strange fruit cautiously. "An orange?" He said the word with a slight hint of disdain as he took it into his hands, his fingers rubbing against the uneven flesh. From beneath his hooded eyelids, he watched Fedor peel his... such an odd way to handle fruit. Determined to not be outdone by his commandant, Ambrose set about to peeling his own orange, his stubby fingernails digging into the skin as he clawed at it unskillfully. The juice ran over his fingers as he squeezed it a little harder than necessary... a rather hearty stream of the stuff squirted out, heading right for Fedor's face. Should the other not move, it would surely strike him squarely in the eyes.

Hiding his laugh behind a quick cough, the king abandoned his endeavors with the odd thing, setting it aside as he instead retreated back to his alcohol. Surely nothing so hard to handle could taste better than a goblet of fine Marcheford wine. Wiping his sticky fingers against his leggings, the king took a quick gulp of the red liquid, swallowing heavily as he regarded the other.

"To each his own," he murmured, gesturing towards Fedor's orange with his own goblet before returning to his drinking.