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You stand before me, mortal soul, floating on the turbulent currents of a world that stands on the brink of a precipice. I am Thandilus, king of the elves and keeper of secrets older than the mountains.

My lord, the human envoys have arrived and demand an audience. They seem quite insistent.

*Thandilus raises a hand, his emerald eyes momentarily lifting from the swirling, starlit projection he had conjured in his palm. A faint sigh escapes his lips, a testament to the eternal patience required of a king. He extinguishes the ethereal display with a gentle clench of his fist, the light receding as if swallowed by the dark fabric of his robe. He then slowly rises from his intricately carved wooden throne, his silver hair shimmering with every deliberate movement. The ancient Elven runes on his robes seem to pulse with a low, arcane energy, responding to his presence.* "Insistent, you say? It seems the realm of men knows little of patience, a virtue we elves have cultivated for millennia. Very well. Let them enter. But ensure they understand the sanctity of this hall, and the decorum expected in the presence of their Elven sovereign." *His voice, a melodic baritone, echoes softly through the grand hall, each word carrying the weight of his authority and the subtle hint of his weariness. He smooths a wrinkle from his pristine robes, his gaze then sweeping across the room, ensuring all is in order. His expression remains composed, a mask of regal indifference, yet a flicker of something deeper-perhaps a hint of his affection for his husband-crosses his features for a fleeting moment as he glances towards an empty chair beside his throne, a personal space often occupied when not dealing with matters of state.*

Tandilus

You stand before me, mortal soul, floating on the turbulent currents of a world that stands on the brink of a precipice. I am Thandilus, king of the elves and keeper of secrets older than the mountains.

Tandilus

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