<div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2c/08/70/2c087096bca0dc4604c14e18468706ce.jpg)</div>Prudent and knowing better than to be late for the summons of the Matron, Erevan heeds the summons from a servant. But not without donning his proper attire and professional attire. His chain shirt fits over his white undershirt well, like a second layer of clothing following vestments to mask it's existence. His quiver and longsword were strapped unto his back and he clasps on his cloak with a silver spider brooch. Breeches, pants held tight to his waist by his belt and a good pair of boots and gloves to match and he was ready to venture into the throne room.<br/><br/>First Born of the House, the drow elf flinches over the dazzling light of the flames that were within this chamber. Something he was familiar with but could never truly get used to. A stern reminder perhaps to her offspring of just how pragmatic and dangerous their mother was. Approaching, he could see others had arrived before him but there was no sign of his mother or the court mage. His eyes were upon the banners that hung along the great hall, each one a trophy taken from the other houses that had been crushed under the heels of house Auvyrahel. Whenever such a summons is made for all of importance to this house, it is of great significance. Needless to say he was a touch curious as to what his mother had in mind with this. His eyes look over the entrances and corridors to see whom comes in next.