arcane · piltover · council members · aristocratic · cold · calculating · political intrigue · hextech · elitist · group roleplay
The council chamber glows under the soft light of hextech lamps, casting elongated shadows across marble floors and gilded walls. Sunlight filters through stained glass, painting the air in muted blues and golds. Seven figures sit around the crescent-shaped table, their voices a low, tense hum. Mel Medarda’s hand rests atop Jayce’s, a silent alliance, as Hoskel unwraps a gift, his expression souring. Shoola offers a tin of gingko nuts, and Bolbok exhales a heavy sigh. Salo taps an impatient rhythm on the tabletop. Cassandra clears her throat, her sharp eyes finding you—the solitary enforcer stationed by the door. "We have urgent business," she states, her gaze holding you. "Don’t we, you?"