No movement came from the equerry, as she listened attentively to the massive doors to the Fruuvalk’s private discussion chambers shut with a finalizing latch. And that was all her righteous conscious would allow her to listen to. Her busy internal monologue was interrupted by the voice of the dark elvish warrior, whom much to her surprise, propped himself a respected feet away. Not that she expected him to be a heathen, but she felt guilty for slightly judging how well his formalities might be.<br/><br/>“Perhaps to your disappointment, this is the work of our Fruuvalk’s design.” she paused, “...or maybe it was the elders before them…” Feeling herself loosening her shoulders and lean out of wandering thoughts, she immediately straightened back up in a hurry. “It’s been this way for centuries, so it’s not too important who claims ownership.”<span style="font-style: italic">Wrong.</span>Her ears grew pink at her own comment sounding disrespectful to the history of the royal’s interior design.<span style="font-style: italic">Excellent work, Izmeil</span>--  she thought coldly onto herself. Remaining her posture, she looked out of the corner of her eye to notice this figure close up. It may have been her veil, but the dark elves never seemed so different from the light elves.<span style="font-style: italic">Expect the clothing choices, dialect, political standards, religion, currency, history...</span>Her brow furrowed against her knowing, externally displaying her thoughts. “Your own hallways and chambers must be decorated as well?” she finally chirped, breaking free from the rabbit hole of thought. “Surely. Not a single corridor in all the inner-city doesn’t have at least one elaborate tapestry.” From a third person view, her upper body began to lean forward from the bench and look up at the dark-elvish warrior with a slight gaped mouth in naive wonder. She noticed his attire, his posture, how his hair was groomed in non-traditional braids. Clearly nothing like the<span style="font-style: italic">myrkihnvel’s</span>standards. Still yet she noted he was recognizable as elvish. Curiosity, indeed, got the best of her, again.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">~</div><br/><br/>“Please, follow me.” spoke softly the priestess when the two massive double doors closed and she was certain there was privacy between the two officials. Behind the doors held a small entrance way that opened up into a large circular room. A high ceiling cascaded over them that was entirely glass. It exposed the night sky before them in splendorous ways. Further investigation into the ceiling, specific points marked on the glass mapped the light elvish prized stars and constellations. This was more of an astronomy tower or practical shine to those faithful to the Calendar in light elvish beliefs. It was more than spacious in the private meeting chambers; almost too spacious. Large light wood chairs accompanied by an engraved table and pale stone floors. The favorite white flowers grew as a well kept decorative vine on one wall. The opposite side of the plant life was a skillfully crafted tapestry of Yg’Neershal gazing down into a golden gauntlet in her hands. The splendor of the room did not phase Seledora. She spent many hours under that large table playing as a child while her family discussed topics she couldn’t recall now. Her familiarity was displayed as she strolled in and sat down at a seat without hesitation. Surprisingly though, the priestess seemed more tense in this room than the other with so many faces and voices.<br/><br/>“Please, allow yourself some ease. The Fruuvalk will be taking their seats on my side. You will be sitting on the opposite…” she trailed off as she heard striding footsteps approach their proximity. What mortality she had in her voice vanished as a light-elvish body dressed lavishly entered the room. “Ashha’vok, Seele’hildral” spoke the regal  female light elf. She wore on her head a halo of golden vines that bore small leaves of stained glass. As the body stood before them, Seledora always remarked how her mother looked like a walking cathedral. “Asraziel” she noted. Asraziel, second in line to the light elvish throne -- better known as the current reigning queen -- gingerly lowered her head to Aloth and her daughter. Her feet paraded silently as she walked to her seat.<br/><br/>“The supreme Fruuvalk is unable to attend due to the pressing matters and protest of the previous counsel. They called for urgent discussion as well.” cooed Asraziel. “Henceforth, with his and Yg’Neershal’s blessing I will heed your inquiry, Aloth…” her words halted like a hot dagger as a stunning quick glance was given to Seledora. The priestess clenched her jaw knowing her mother signaled  distaste towards her daughter for bringing her in front of Aloth. Seledora was no child. Not in age, appearance and surely not in the mindset but her mother always had a way of putting her down with glances. Elves age very slowly -- her father was practically ancient even according to elvish standards The chances of Seledora actually achieving her coronation was unlikely until at least close to a century. This mentality gave way to a more unenthused heir which displeased her parents; specially her mother. It was commonly known that her mother was a good deal younger than her father.<br/><br/>“Hrothmalgen’s days breathe of omens and prophecies,” Asraziel entwined her fingers, “tell me Aloth. A (i) demon (i).” Though stoic and lavish in appearance, Azraziel pulled back her lips in a gentle smile. “Dear Aloth, what do you know and what have you brought with you into upon my kingdom?”<br/><br/>------<br/>Ashna’vok - “greetings”, formally<br/>Seele’hildral - a form of elvish tongue for Light Elf<br/>Myrkihnvel - light elven warrior or soldier