THE AGE OF SILVER

[Cobbler 618]

The battle-worn high mali'thill sank into his ornate wooden desk, his once-shining armor now bearing the scars of fierce combat. The room around him was dimly lit by the soft glow of a single, flickering candle, its flame mirroring the flame that still burned within his determined eyes. With an air of solemn exhaustion, he removed his helm, revealing a face etched with the marks of battle but also a resolute determination. The room bore witness to his exploits, with maps, scrolls, and battle plans strewn across the desk, detailing the battlefield strategies that had seen him through yet another conflict. As he leaned back into his chair, a sense of both relief and melancholy washed over him; the echoes of the battle still rang in his ears, but for now, the tilruir'tir found a fleeting moment of respite before the next call to duty.