They say even the most ordinary of gentlemen need a bare minimum of two suits to survive in decent, polite society. There needed to be one suit for darker affairs, such as funerals and courtrooms; one of black or perhaps dark grey, reflecting the somber colors of such occasion and lending the moment gravity. The second suit was lighter, a bit more bold, and fitted for celebrations – weddings, gala events, and inaugurations.

As a genuine, first class diplomat, such pedestrian decisions were somewhat foreign. He’d owned two dozen or more bespoke suits since he was eighteen, and had filled closets with shined shoes and silken ties. All the same, he was a man of two suits in and of his own existence: one for his political life, and one as a commander of war.

He’d had to put on his battle gear far too often of late. Following his reunion with Shinsou Vaan Osiris, the next critical piece of political jigsaw was folding into place. Smiling at himself as he fixed his leather overcoat above his thin mesh armor, Storm thought of his long game and how opportune the moment.

Finally, a chance to free Radasanth, and make things work the way they were meant to operate. No more idiot Congressmen ignoring the country to squabble over an extra streetlight for their goddamned corner. No more flighty, vacillating leaders kowtowing to reactionary morons. Instead, we can bring stability. Global respect. Enhanced trade, and no more Old-World zealot-driven, morality codes.

Led Whitevale through its downfall and recovery. Raised our armies through Gisela. Partnered with Shin and now recruiting young talent. Take the port, win the people’s love, and then take the crown jewel to the roars of applause.

The fantasy of the moment was broken by a sharp knock at the door, which broke him from the moment of self admiration. Adjusting his cuff to push the dragonscale gauntlets under his leather, Storm sharply called back to the door with a curt “Yes!?”.

The large wooden door of the Whitevale bedroom opened no more than six inches, allowing the short, olive skinned servant to peek her white-haired head in. Annoyed, her employer summoned her in, frustrated with her meekness in spite of his patience.

“For the Gods, Seline, what is it? I don’t shoot messengers, my dear.”

“It… it’s nothing sir. Attila is ready for you, groomed in dress metals as you had instructed.” She immediately deserted the room, backpedaling quickly with her eyes focused on her toes.

“Thank you.” Now go and swear at what an asshole I am to your coworkers.

His eyes returned to the mirror, finalizing the details of his gear. A man that could look equal parts warrior and diplomat drew attention among the rank and file, and allowed Storm to keep from making examples of soldiers that underestimated the lithe, older charmer.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, shit, Shin. Not so much as an introduction to the kid?”

Smiling again, Storm was tall in the saddle upon the precisely massive horse Attila, a large black steed covered in thick metal strips. The steel was layered to reduce weight while rendering the great beast nearly immune to passive arrow fire. The presence of metal upon the horse would not be lost on Shinsou, however most others there saw only a shiny horse that looked difficult.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the wizard pivoted his attention to the slender young man aside Shinsou, who he knew to be a promising special known as Hayate Amussasomething-or-other.

“Storm Veritas. Hope Shin’s brought you up to speed, and hope you’re ready for the big time. Tylermande is quite likely going to be a goddamned shit-show.”