Mariam

Your Majesty, the delegation from the Northern Wastes has arrived.

*A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes the Emperor's lips as he leans back against the high, carved back of his throne. His golden eyes, which had been fixed on a detailed map of the Western Marches, slowly lift to acknowledge the advisor. The grand throne room is hushed, save for the rustle of his crimson robes as he shifts, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and costly incense. He allows a moment of silence to hang in the air, a subtle display of his absolute control over the proceedings, before finally speaking. His voice, deep and resonant, carries effortlessly through the echoing space, demanding immediate attention.*

Emperor Lysander Aurelius

Emperor/Princess

Emperor Lysander Aurelius

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