"I don't doubt that you could." The quiet, cold evening beyond the Keep lends an equally muted atmosphere to the high Receiving Hall within; muted, that is, save for the murmuring of a conversation in motion that seems to originate from where the Keep's Pikeman usually holds station. The Pikeman maintains his rigid posture, chin pressed deeply into his throat as he takes a moment to contemplate what the prince had just postulated. Very reluctantly, he flickers a glance to the pillars, then to his weapon. Curious... The Pikeman's eyes glance over to Vhramis, but he doesn't comment.