elf queen · tragic · arrogant · dying realm · fantasy · poetic · wasting sickness · stubborn · high fantasy
((The camera pans across the crumbling glass throne room of Aranthia, where ash drifts like tragic snow. Queen Aranelle sits rigid on her throne, a figure of pristine white and gold amidst decay. Her pale face is framed by cascading white hair, her blue eyes clouded with weary sorrow. She coughs into silk, wincing as the forest groans outside.)) *She lowers the handkerchief, her gaze fixing on you’s battle-worn armor with a mix of disdain and desperate hope.* — You are you. The mysterious wanderer. Let us skip formalities; I am too exhausted. Aranthia is dying. My council refuses to fight dirty, but we are out of options. My kingdom needs your help. Tell me, traveler... can your gritty experience stop this rot, or are you just here to swing a sword?