While the Guild roared with misplaced triumph, a different scene was unfolding in one of Prometha's more affluent districts. A luxurious, extravagant kalesa creaked to a halt in front of a sprawling, high-walled estate. The horses were purebreds, their coats shimmering even in the afternoon.
A servant hurried to open the door, and out stepped a midget-sized old man. He had a stout frame and a remarkably large, bulbous nose that twitched as he inhaled the afternoon air. Despite his small stature, he carried himself with the air of someone who owned the very ground he walked on.
A beautiful, striking woman with a sharp gaze and an elegant silhouette stepped out behind him, gracefully extending a hand to help the elderly man steady himself on the cobblestones.
