Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20181211225019/@comment-25808351-20190103045753

(Everyone) Armata makes his way back toward his throne room, but he stops as grandfather clock he passed chimes to the hour. As he hears the ninth chime dies he changes direction and heads to a new destination. Deep into the private wing of the castle, far past the patrol of the guards, Armata sits in his throne room. A dark cold room made of grey stone and shaped like an octagon. Large statues of grand knights are carved into the walls, and the room is stained in red from the colored windows.

Armata sits upon his stone coffin that lay at the top of a stage of stone. Red mist emanates from his cloak, shrouding the floor in a spectral red fog. He stares at a mirror at the one side of the room, a mirror with a black wooden frame carved in gothic fashion. He waits patiently, staring at the mirror.