Pontiff Ciaran sits in his study. He looks through some old times. Occasionally scribbling some things down on a piece of paper. He uses a long feathered quill. The feather is black. Perhaps from a crow or raven. His office is dimly lit. Just enough for him to read and write. His office having book shelves that were filled with books. Ancient ones full of forgotten knowledge to others. He wears his traditional robes. They are black with gold symbols etched into the fabric. His office has notes of Victorian and gothic architecture. His desk is very well made.

time drags on and soon a knock at the door is heard. The Pontiff sighs and places down his quill

“Enter”

his voice isn’t harsh but it isn’t welcoming either. He sits back in his chair folding his hands across his lap. The door opens and two of the four archbishops enter. A young woman being dragged in behind them. Ciaran raises an eyebrow. His expression shifting ever so slightly into that of annoyance.

“What is the meaning of this?”