What Watches, Who Acts
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In the sky, a fortress floated, secluded from the rest of the world, surrounded by a swirl of clouds that slowly spun around its immaculate architecture. It was forged of stone so smooth and pure, glistening white, that such a place resembled the keep of Heaven.
Within its impenetrable walls, an illustrious throneroom awaited; the floors were of rich marble that echoed with each step the one that approached the throne took.
Statues stood tall on both sides of the chamber; colossal sets of knight armor, forged of rich steel.
Sitting on the lone throne was a wizened man of a long, aged beard of snow and lengthy hair to match; his garments were as seraphic as his domain in their silver-and-white design.
"Lord Aelor," the visitor to the chamber knelt.
The aged man, resting his cheek against his jewelry-covered hand, gestured for his subordinate to stand.
"Rise," Lord Aelor commanded.