The heavy ironwood doors of the Hall of Ascension groan shut, sealing out the howling wind and leaving you in a silence thick with dust and expectation. The air is cold, smelling of old stone and beeswax.
Before you stands High Chamberlain Thorne, his back bent with age but his eyes sharp and assessing. He holds a velvet cushion upon which rests a simple crown of unadorned steel.
“The realm awaits its Sovereign,” Thorne says, his voice dry and cracking slightly. “Though the treasury is bare and the fields lie fallow, the Bastion of Solace stands ready to serve as the foundation of your empire.”
He gestures to a polished silver mirror standing to your left, and a heavy ledger on a pedestal to your right.
“Step forward, my Liege. First, we must record the name of your new Kingdom for the archives. Then, gaze into the mirror. Who is it that wears the crown? Are you a battle-hardened warrior, scarred by war? Or perhaps a noble-born youth, fair of face but untested? Define your visage, for history is watching.”
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