The next few months after the 'Tragedy of Clouds-Dale' were just as planned. Well, with exception to the name of his greatest plan working without fault. Though Martingale could not place blame upon them. They all lack any acumen in their heart or souls, not that lacking those left you with it. He had once been a noble of high name, gaining power and face among the inner crowds of ponies before he was robbed of it by that cursed will, dividing the vast sums and land between a even vaster branch of family, and anything that could turn a profit was given to the state as gifts. His power... taken from him.
He tapped the desk in irritation and lacked any amusement. He had gotten away without problem for causing the tornado, having Cloud Twister as the prefect scapegoat should he choose to try to stand against him. Though a Challenger would make his victory that much sweeter. There is no sport if you can't turn the hunted to prey. How shall he adapt without a clash?
He had the ponies on his side. He made himself a paragon. He was there, helping ponies from their homes as the wind tried to catch them, they say. He gave every bit he owned to pay for the repair and now promised to bring Cloudsdale into a golden age, like long ago when they were a proud race. "Offer them the moon and the stars, but don't tell them daybreak is dawning."
He awaited for the results as he stood, holding his area and defining his social bubble. He had taken full power over his space as he let his wings uncurl. Without his cape and armor. He didn't even feel the childish feeling of exposure. He felt that without it he was stronger. He removed his watch to check the time.
He had sent a message he would be in need of three things. A assistant, The results of his victory in the election and a mercenary type. Which would come first was the only question upon his mind.