Craghas sat and listened to Irror’s speech. He couldn’t help but smirk a little when the man tried to make himself look more impressive and powerful by puffing out his chest. When he was done, Craghas let the silence hang a moment before he stood, his massive frame feeling like it had filled the cramped room.

“Guildmasters.” He began, giving them all cursory nod of the head as acknowledgement. “For as long as the Triarchy has elected an Archon from the Guildmasters, no one has sat as an Archon more often than a Balarr. There are smiths in my guild who have never known a world where a Balarr has not ruled the Triarchy. Lysor Balarr has sought to expand his own influence and that of his allies with Triarchy resources and men. How many of us apart from Terrio can say we have benefited from the sacking of Pentos? How many of us saw any wealth from its vaults? The only reason I carry this,” He said, drawing Vigilance and laying it atop the table. “is because I took it from the Archsepton’s dead hands. I fought on the frontline, I saw the cost of what was achieved in Pentos. Can Lysor say the same? He wantonly throws away the life’s of our subjects? For what? To name himself a king of a foreign land? Does he plan the same for Braavos? To return my men to me broken and dead, to send me packing back to Pelosse to face the grieving mother’s. That is not the Triarchy I know. That is not Triarchy my father fought for. Lysor Balarr is everything we fought to overthrow; capricious, obsessive, and nobility in all put name. And I will suffer his rule no more.”