The grand halls of the Hazorh castle echoed with the murmur of voices. A meeting was underway, attended by the kingdom's nobles, all engaged in the planning of the grand Tournament of Chosens.
Sitting at the head of the table was King Beylon, a man of regal bearing, his eyes sharp and his expression composed, despite the weight of the decisions before him.
The nobles were in heated discussion, debating the venue for the tournament and the appropriate budget for the event. Each had their own suggestions, and the conversation veered into the logistical minutiae that Beylon had long grown tired of. His thoughts drifted as the voices around him grew more animated, their words fading into the background.
