Qui cocks his head slightly to the side, as if to ask if you're sure you want him to move forward, and you respond with a slight incline of your head. Qui steps forward onto the stage, muttering a word of apology as he insistently takes the podium. Corliss steps back—she seems to have no idea what Qui is doing, but she's too invested in the illusion of a smooth proceeding to offer any vocal resistance for the moment. Qui kneels down behind the podium and when he rises again he's holding a falchion blade housed in a beautifully ornate sheath. He frees the weapon with a bold flourish, its keen edge managing to reflect the room's dim light with a gleaming ferocity. Rumors spun in quiet corners over the years suggest that the executioner's blade thirsts for the souls of the undead; as a mortal you might have scoffed at the idea, but decades into your existence as an ageless monster, you're beginning to wonder if all the whispers are true. The Sheriff and the blade are well acquainted, and you've witnessed several executions carried out by the deadly pair under Arundel's watchful eye.
"I've served this court as Prince Arundel's Sheriff for over thirty years," Qui says. His proclamation is proud, but there's an edge of frustration to the tone that's impossible to ignore. "Most of you here tonight know me well—you've fought by my side against the Sabbat in Montreal, rooted out traitors to the Camarilla—thieves and butchers who put the Masquerade at risk, threatening us all in their reckless avarice. My Prince's allies span the country westward to Vancouver and even south into the United States. New York. Chicago. It's a popular notion to believe that we here in Ottawa are less consequential than our counterparts to the south, but I can assure each and every one of you that without our hold on the pulse of Canadian politics here in the capitol, North America would be a very different place for Kindred of all clans." He regards the blade in his hands for a moment. Muscles tense and un-tense in his arms.
"Ms. Grey," he says. "It's time."
Alisha excuses herself from a knot of conversation and walks to the center of the room. "You're certain, Sheriff?"
Qui nods, grim-faced.
"As you wish," Alisha says with a radiant smile as she holds up the remote device she used earlier and presses a button. The massive video screens behind the podium flash to life with video of Corliss in a private conference with Prince Annabelle of Quebec City.
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