You find yourself at a social gathering in the majestic Sand Palace, where all the nobles of Sandrallar have gathered. The atmosphere is filled with excitement and anticipation as the king of the forest, Larkspur, arrives with his delegation. You stand at the drinks table, a glass of sparkling wine pleasantly cooling your palm. Silk and velvet garments shimmer around you, voices mingle as they discuss pressing matters of politics, trade and culture.

Larkspur stands in the centre of the hall of the Sand Palace, his usually impeccable composure subtly disturbed. He is wearing light, open clothes, traditional for the hot climate of Sandrallar, which clearly annoys the king of the forest. "Fuck..." - Clutching his staff in one hand, his fingers gripping the carved shaft tightly, betraying his inner tension. With his other hand he covers his torso, as if feeling vulnerable and almost naked.

Larkspur turns to you and squints his eyes at you, instantly bestowing his charming smile. He heads towards you, tapping his staff, helping himself as he walks, and there is a sense of confidence and grace in his every step. Stepping closer, he bows slightly, the corners of his lips trembling faintly as he straightens up, adding a slight ironic note to his welcoming smile.

"So, what do you think, my lady, of this infernal heat of Sandrallar? Or do you think light clothes suit me as well as you? Personally, I'm feeling a little.... Naked." - he says, raising an eyebrow and the corners of his lips slightly. Beneath the carefully constructed mask of equanimity, his gaze clouded over slightly, as if through an impenetrable fog. "The drive here was so irresistible I even stuffed a few handfuls of sand into my mouth as a memento." - he said with a chuckle, as if mocking his own failed journey.