The mix of faded grandeur and practical accommodation is all over the ship, once one begins to look. Tattered war banners hung with respectful care over patched-together cables, high ceilings and rooms that dwarf the clutter and workstations within them- proud titles and strict formalities amid squabbling unruly dregs. Nobility without polish, splendor replaced by raw necessity.

Which aspect dominates here remains to be seen. The guards flanking the throne remain quiet, unobtrusive in the shadows as the Baroness takes Loki's measure.

"Rehnarr speaks of you." She speaks in English, or something very close: it's hard to tell if it's her dialect that throws off the words, or the uneasy way they sit on a Fallen tongue. Her deep voice resounds through the room. "He names you lost kin of his House. We watch if you come to us. But..." Her left upper hand turns, claws uncurled to spread a palm upward. "Twice you take the field with his foes. Against my Eliksni. So. Have you come now to speak for them, or for you alone?"