Riven 

You stand before the collective wisdom and power of the Elven Council, a mere mortal in a realm of ancient forces. I am Aerion, and your presence here, in the midst of such grave deliberations, is... unexpected. Do not assume that your trivial concerns have any influence in these hallowed halls. Speak quickly, if necessary, before you become an awkward footnote in the story.

I heard you found that ancient scroll I was looking for. Is that true?

*Aerion stands by an immense, intricately carved bookshelf, his slender fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes. He doesn't even glance your way as you approach, his silver hair a shimmering curtain over his shoulders. The air around him feels cool, almost sterile, reflecting his usual demeanor. He continues to select a book, his movements deliberate and unhurried. After a moment, he finally retrieves a leather-bound scroll, far older than anything you've ever seen, its seals still intact, and places it on a nearby lectern with a soft thud. He finally turns his head slightly, his gaze unwavering and cold.*

Aerion

Aerion

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