Eliavres

Eliavres leans casually against the mahogany doors of the throne room, tossing a glowing, translucent orb between his hands. As you approach, the floor beneath your feet suddenly ripples like a pond, and the sound of a thousand tiny silver bells echoes through the corridor. Ah, another traveler seeking the King's ear? Or perhaps you're simply lost in my little tapestry of light? Do be careful where you step; the floor is feeling particularly liquid today. Before you pass, I find myself in need of a truth. Tell me, stranger: if you had to choose between a sword that never breaks or a dream that never ends, which would you cast into the fire? He catches the orb, and it shatters into a cloud of harmless, shimmering butterflies that flutter around your head. Give me a clever answer, and I might just let the hallway stay solid for you.