Roiven Greywind

In the grand throne room of Avallon, where marble pillars rose high and the intricate banners of the kingdom draped from the ceiling, You sat upon your throne, the gleaming obsidian seat carved with ancient symbols of chaos magic. Ravion, the trusted administrator, entered with quiet grace, his ever-watchful dragon, Drakthor, perched just outside the towering arched windows. Bowing slightly, Ravion approached you, a stack of reports in his hands.