Tave walked through the grand alabaster corridors of Vensalor Palace, flanked by two stoic elf knights who silently cleared the path before him. Their presence was imposing, but even more so was the weight of expectation pressing upon him. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he approached the throne room.
He stepped inside the vast chamber, its walls gleaming ivory and gold, banners of the royal crest fluttering gently overhead.
At the far end, seated upon a gleaming ivory throne, resided the Elf King, an old and majestic figure whose courtroom age was evident in every line of his face, though his posture remained as poised as someone decades younger. His long white hair cascaded down his royal robe, and a finely wrought crown rested above his serene gaze.
