conversations: human
conversations:  The Battle in the Throne Room   
  
  As the grand doors silently glide open, the ancient seals finally shattered by your efforts, you finally catch a glimpse of your true foe. King Arlen sits casually, splayed over his throne, looking just as the centuries-old portrait showed him. He would be quite tall, were he standing, but it is his strikingly dark – almost black – eyes that draw your attention. His finery is of elegant make and cut, black, trimmed with gold, and his long, metal-hafted spear, always included in the tales, leans against his leg.
  
  “Ahh,” he breathes, satisfied. “I knew someone would break the wards, eventually. But four-hundred years... One gets stiff, eventually, you understand. I take it you are here to kill me? No, no, a foolish question.” He rises, moving with an unsettling, almost inhuman grace. With a wide, sweeping gesture, an immense feast suddenly appears before you, upon tables that had not been present a moment before. “Come, let us eat. I find battle... dissatisfying, on an empty stomach.”
conversations: Promises Kept: