The court was in full session when Karvan strode into the room, his spurs clicking precisely on the marble floor like stones being thrown at a lover's window for a midnight tryst. The courtiers silenced themselves as they listened to the herald announce this unexpected dignitary. The lengthy proclamation gave them time to examine the foreign character that had so unceremoniously stomped into their domain.
His hair was a deep mahogany, tied back cleanly at his nape with a leather thong. His face was hard and carved with aquiline features, but still handsome enough in its own strange way that several of the ladies felt the need of their fans upon observing it with profound reverence. His eyes were green, so green that silent slithers echoed in many of the courtiers' minds. His cheekbones were set high in his face, creating a dominating, forceful countenance that was a heavy weight on any negotiating table. Karvan's mouth was set in a firm, straight line, causing one the wonder if a smile ever broke those stolid lips from their stonewall appearance. The overall effect was any ambassador's nightmare.
His cloak swept across the floor from his immense height of a margin over six feet. The gray nothingness of the cloak matched the somber atmosphere set by the impassive expressions of his face and the menacing movements of his body. His shirt, under the cover of a black tunic, was full sleeved, was left in the natural off-white, and laced neatly at the wrists and neck. Black riding pants extended beyond the edges of the tunic to the tops of the black riding boots, which rose to his knees. Silvery-white spurs showed five formidable points that would make any equine shudder into submission at the slightest touch.
A sword belt buckled snugly at his waist showed an impressive width of chest and wide powerful shoulders that were both the qualities of a natural soldier and of a born killer. As he walked to the throne, the sword repeatedly impacted against the palm of his hand, as if demanding to be given a fresh sacrifice of the warm, sweet blood of cushioned courtiers. Its smaller counterpart on the other side of the belt, a long dagger with a massively jeweled hilt, remained still, content with the knowledge that foolishly unguarded backs and unwilling throats with soft yielding flesh were waiting in the many inky corners of the castle that very night.
The courtiers all held their breath, afraid of calling the attention of the man striding so purposefully towards their king and sovereign, wondering where and what they would be the same time the next day.