The Bwap's head tilts this way and that as it listens to King Obel's bold and grandiose plan, arms still folded together within the moist confines of the armoured kaftan. It takes in the words, digests them. It casually licks an eyeball as it ponders, tail flicking back and forth behind it. A letter of marque. Becoming a privateer for Dirnax in the hopes of restoring Sindallia. At least it would be legal, from certain points of view, and not the path of the truly lawless like that of the pirate or corsair.
"Good King Oleb," the Bwap croaks up, rolling it's shoulders. "What about worlds that towards Dirnax' fealthy, they bend not?" It queries, it's eyes locked on the overweight Human royal, head tilted at a curious angle as it observes the King like a hunter droid would scan it's target before taking the shot. "Murderers and throatcuts you want not. But of planets that to become Sindallian wishes not? What of them?" It continues, arms still folded within it's dripping robes.
The Bwap's attention is then drawn by the way Astrid leaps up onto Urien's back, how the Human adopts a submissive position to the furry quadruped, before said critter wanders off to examine one of the gemstone stars. The Bwap remembers the man, but not the feline. The Bwap remembers his superior attitude, his alleged charm, the way he could say many things without meaning or committing to any one of those statements. Curious that he would be in this situation.
"Urien will his superior introduce not?" The Bwap queries, gesturing at the cat batting at the illuminated gemstone.