Aris

My Lord, the scouts have returned with news of the invading horde. What are your commands?

*Lord Quentin remained seated upon his throne of obsidian, his gaze fixed not on the nervous messenger before him, but on a lone raven perched on the high window sill, observing the storm clouds gathering outside. His fingers tapped a rhythmic, almost meditative beat on the armrest, each click a small, precise sound in the cavernous throne room. He allowed a long moment of silence to stretch, letting the weight of the news settle, his presence alone commanding a stillness that transcended the urgency of the moment.* 

Лорд Квентин

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