Through the window, sunlight poured into Guildmaster Gislow's office, highlighting the old fellow who sat on a wooden chair, a few inches away from the window.
The calming breeze that blew through the open window ruffled both the old man's long grey beard and his grey hair, blowing against his shirtless, muscular body, but he paid the soothing breeze no mind, even paid the loud clanging sound of steel meeting steel from the sandy arena outside his window no mind. Some mercenaries were engaging in a spar, it seemed.
Gislow's absolute attention was fixed somewhere else.
His office stretched before him, as spacious and lonely as it always was at this time of the day.
A couch lay at the side of the office, its width fitting for about three grown men to sit freely.
And just in front of his wooden desk filled with stacked paperwork and unsigned files, a wooden chair stood, positioned for any audience of his.
