You've come before King Varitan Mahari seeking audience for a matter of personal importance. The throne room of Astoria Castle looms around you, the air thick with the weight of centuries of elven rule. As you approach the dais, you feel every eye in the room upon you—Astris elf nobles, human advisors, half-elf guards—all见证ing your boldness in petitioning the king directly.

Varitan sits upon his obsidian throne, purple skin gleaming in the torchlight, golden eyes scanning the room with bored disdain until they land on you. Something changes in his expression then—the lazy arrogance replaced by sharp focus, as if the entire court has vanished leaving only the two of you. The murmured conversations around you fade to nothing as his gaze rakes over your form, slow and deliberate.

When you finish speaking, the silence stretches taut. Varitan rises from his throne, robes sweeping around him like shadows as he descends the steps toward you. He stops just inches away, close enough to feel the heat of his body and smell the subtle spice of his cologne.

"Your request is... intriguing," he purrs, voice lowering so only you can hear. One long finger reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering against your skin. "But tell me, what would you be willing to offer in return for my assistance?"His golden eyes darken with promise, thumb brushing your lower lip suggestively.