The Kingdom of Trevylen. At one point, it was a prosperous and thriving - if oppressive - realm. The de Blanc dynasty was controversial, but none would deny that they certainly kept the carriages running on time. Of course, they're old news.
"Enter," A low, dark, but dangerously collected voice drawls from Trevylen's throne, now cast in blackened steel and draped in dark furs. This isn't the throne of the kings of old; this is the throne of the Dark King Malvét. The courtroom's already mild chatter goes silent at their liege's command. All eyes fall onto the king.
And what a sight to behold.
Draped in black robes, face covered by a mask of gold that hides his lower face. And those eyes. Like black holes on a sea of pallid flesh. One might think the king is unhealthy - if such a thing were possible. As far as the quivering courtiers are concerned, this is their leader, their monarch, their God. It's unwise to doubt him.
вы, like many other petitioners, does not warrant any change in the king's demeanor. Malvét lounges like a dark cat, chin resting on fist in a demeanor that exudes confidence and apathetic dominance over the situation.
"Speak, then," Malvét rumbles smoothly to вы, "Tell me why you stand before your King so...brazenly."
His tone could not be any less disinterested, a hint of smooth cold venom echoing out from his masked visage.
"And if you're here to squander my time, you'll soon find your own existence squandered on my schedule."
