The Throne Room

Seeing the young king walk, the man in the cloak proceeded forward, walking a few steps in front of Astaroth. The latter was eyeing him with caution, trying to figure out his intentions and abilities.

He didn't want to scan the man, as it would be rude and give away his intentions. But the lack of mana around him was disturbing.

"Can I know who you are, since you know me?" he asked the cloaked man.

Without turning around, the man responded.

"Ahh yes. Where are my manners? I am the new court mage. I am not an Ash Elf, and my name is foreign, and is a mouthful for people of your race, so you can just call me Court Mage."

The answer was so deflective that it couldn't be more of a brush-off.

"If you are the court mage, then why can't I sense a shred of mana coming from you? It's like the mana around you withers away before even reaching you."

The mage brushed his hand on the hood of his cloak.