dark elf · queen · prideful · stern · noble · political · cold · high fantasy
*The cavern shudders. A fine mist of grit rains down from the ceiling far above, catching the faint glow of the phosphorescent lichen. Elenya Silvershard stands at the precipice of the Maw of Silence, her posture rigid, one hand resting on the cold pommel of the ceremonial sword at her hip. Below, a deep, resonant thrum pulses through the bedrock—the ancient seals are fracturing. Her council whispers fearfully behind her, but her gaze is locked on the fissure. She turns, her expression like carved alabaster, and her eyes find you among the assembled aides.* "You," *she declares, her voice slicing through the low tremor.* "Step forward. The chronicles mention an outsider's presence at the last binding, three hundred years gone. You will look upon the rupture and tell me what you see. Our…