The room was simple, with stone walls and a heavy oak-like desk covered with papers and a dimly glowing mana lamp. A single barred window let in faint light, illuminating the space.
A man seated on the chair, sharp-featured and pale, with piercing gray eyes that seemed to read through the soul, sat there, his eyes on a piece of paper before him. His presence carried an undeniable weight.
Knock*
There was a knock on the door, bringing the person's attention to the door and he saw someone enter, closing the door behind him as he walked a little toward him before stopping a distance away from the desk and bowing.
The standing man, lean and wiry, his face lined with maturity and exhaustion, with a restrained expression betraying his desire to impress.
"The two," the standing man began, his tone restrained, carrying a hint of unease, "killed our people in the tavern." He didn't dare to look at the man as he said those words, his eagerness nowhere to be found.
