BANG!
A fist slammed against the armrest of a throne. "How much more foolish could you possibly get?" a voice growled.
Eleven thrones formed a circle in the dim space. Shadows cloaked the figures sitting on them, leaving only bits and pieces of their bodies visible, enough to let them express their anger through their gesture.
In the center, a lone figure knelt on an invisible floor, head bowed in repentance. His head hung low, and frankly, he didn't need the gallery of overbearing, self-important spirits to remind him of his failure. Oh, he knew.
"Fallen One," came a gentle voice, almost kind. But everyone recognized the mocking edge in Nivara's words. The twelfth ancestor was known for her sweet sarcasm. "Don't you wish to regain your place as an ancestor?"
