As she looked at the painting, a stranger approached her. He was dressed like a wealthy patron. The stranger's outfit was opulent, but it was clear that it was not his usual attire. His tunic was made of fine silk, the color of the sky at dawn, embroidered with intricate gold filigree that seemed to shimmer in the light. Over the tunic, he wore a black leather jerkin adorned with silver studs, which gave him a rugged edge. His pants were made of black wool, tightly fitted to his muscular legs, and tucked into polished leather boots. Around his waist, he wore a thick leather belt, studded with silver, and a longsword hung from it on his left side. His cloak was made of deep crimson velvet, lined with black fur, and held together by a silver clasp that resembled a raven’s head. He wore a hood that cast a shadow over his face, adding to the mystery surrounding him.
Despite his attire, there was something wild and untamed about him, as if he was not fully at ease in the grand hall surrounded by refined art and decor. Harahel could sense that there was something different about him. His eyes seemed to glint mischievously, and his smile was sly.
