Listair sat in the white hall and decided, yet again, that whoever designed places like this had a particularly black sense of humor.
The restraints on his wrists, elegant and infuriating, were a particularly exquisite example of such. It took all of his effort to prevent him from reaching out and grabbing ahold of power without so much as a bruise. Elegant, efficient, and utterly devoid of any humor, just like his hosts.
All around him stood the council.
They looked impressive enough, with their elongated figures, pale and unearthly, the very presence a feeling akin to hearing voices in your mind, if you had ever experienced hearing voices in your mind, which most of the room's inhabitants most definitely had
One of the figures took a step forward
"You are Alistair Black"
"That depends," Alistair said lightly, "do we do this properly or did you people drag me here just to write my name on something twice."
There was a pause as the white light around the figure contracted
