VIIIIt was afternoon in the city of Nidath. Kaj, Clarice and Oloice were waiting for the King in the Throne Room. Shortly after their arrival, the general of the elven army, Fanyr Alatin, appeared, decked out fully with armor, his rank insignia, sword, and cape. He was an elf of advanced age, bald and with thick, light-colored eyebrows. His yellow eyes, old-age wrinkles, austere expression, and the tattoos on his forehead made him look the part of the typical nalnir as found in the legends.
“Looks like this is serious business,” quipped Fanyr, shaking hands with the three.
“It is,” said Clarice, understanding that his words were mocking.
“I hope this isn’t always the same spiel about the hutment,” announced Atraed Talril, Captain of the City Guard. Suspicious, he entered the room, and l
