Wylein would read the news, his grimace dissolved into a warm smile that struck into a large grin that spilled across his face.
"At last!" He exlcaimed
we can now enjoy the fruits of our victory!"
He rose from his chair laying down his pipe on the mantle above the warm, crackeling fire place. The Artizan Steward then opened one of the many arched windows of Morteskvan and stared deep into the frozen wastelands that lay north. The bitter cool air that had raced between snowtopped cliffaces and craggy rivers of ice then shot through his window, snuffing candles and ruffling his many scribings held down by paper weights.
Wylein would inhale the frosty air.
"The end of one chapter is just the begining of the next! I anticipate what awaits me!"
He twindled his moustache.
Just then a Handmaiden by the name of Morvana stood beneath Wylein's open door frame.
"His grace, Lord Ruthern would demand an audience with you... you are to find him on the Rooftop of the High Keep, Wylein..."
Without turning Wylein would nod firmly
"Then I shall see him at once. What a veiw he has picked!"
He then closed his window. As he turned he was quick to notice that the fireplace had been extinguished,
the candles lay dead, the smoke dissapated and so to the Handmaiden was no where to be seen.