Iriades Mon'd'atall

Bordering on the verge of nonchalance, the tall elf at the side of the antechamber wipes some dust from his sleeves. To those inspecting him closely, it seems almost as if it was his intention to turn the minor gesture into a theatrical move, one whose sole purpose was to convey a 'can-do' attitude. Despite, or - as the cliché goes - perhaps because of the unspoken message of 'willing to get his hands dirty', the man appears oddly at ease in this luxurious environment.
When his gaze meets that of the courtier, he actually gives him a friendly nod, hinting at the fact that this wasn't the first time he had seen the man.

Upon closer inspection, one can see that several wrinkles run across his face, and while he has the look of an experienced combatant, it's not entirely clear whether his forté lies in physical or magical prowess.
With a mixture of patience, perhaps even apathy, the elf calmly waits, spending his time with making some last-minute changes to his appearance. Clad in a beautiful robe where shades of gray, light blue and white converge and disperse in a rather showy manner, it wouldn't be hard to mistake him for one of the king's advisors.
As the others begin to introduce themselves, he shifts his attention from his clothes to the rest, and for a moment it seems as if a few sparkles fly from his fingertips as he does so.

With another friendly nod, he stretches out his right hand to meet that of Stu, involuntarily (?) exposing the Arcanan symbol on his own right forearm, before speaking up in a firm, though kind-hearted voice.

"Iriades Mon'd'atall."