Within the heart of Stormhold's bustling political center, the grandeur of the local politician's office unfolded. The cacophony of administrative affairs reverberated through the opulent chamber, a testament to power and prestige. The room was adorned with luxurious furnishings and lavish decor, reflecting the authority of its occupant.
The office was a chamber of rich mahogany and deep oak, a sanctuary of tradition and power. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, their shelves heavy with ancient tomes and dusty scrolls. A massive, intricately carved wooden desk sat at the center of the room, its surface polished to a high sheen. On it rested a map of the realm, marked with colored pins denoting political districts and alliances.
The windows, tall and arched, were adorned with heavy crimson drapes that billowed with an air of regality. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, crimson hue across the room's dark wood furnishings. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals sparkling like a thousand stars when illuminated.
In one corner of the room, there stood a small altar dedicated to Artur, a symbol of divine blessing and guidance in matters of governance and diplomacy.
The politician himself, a formidable figure by the name of Lord Octavius Alderidge, held the title of Mayor of Stormhold. He wore a finely tailored robe of deep burgundy. A gold pendant hung from a chain around his neck, bearing the crest of his noble lineage.
His salt-and-pepper beard framed a stern countenance, and his eyes, like pools of ancient wisdom, held the weight of leadership. As Lord Alderidge fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest of his chair, his assistant, a poised and efficient woman named Eliza, stood nearby, her fingers deftly managing the correspondence that inundated his office. Despite the grandeur of the setting, there was an air of impatience about Lord Alderidge as he grumbled about an scheduled appointment.
"Influencers, influencers," he grumbled, shaking his head. "I have no time for these charlatans and their tricks. This is a place for serious matters."
Eliza nodded in acknowledgment, although her expression carried a hint of weariness, perhaps from having to navigate the politician's vexations. She replied, "I completely understand, sir, but they were quite insistent on securing this appointment. One must tread carefully when it comes to those associated with Antioch."
Lord Alderidge, with a subtle, condescending smile, dismissed Eliza's words with a wave of his hand. "My dear Eliza, you mustn't let yourself be swayed by such village superstitions," he remarked, his tone dripping with condescension.
Just as Lord Alderidge seemed ready to dismiss the matter entirely, the office door swung open, and in walked Antioch and Harahel, dressed in attire that epitomized the essence of influencers.
or start from the beginning.
