The black haired male lowered his teacup on the table as your footsteps approached his office table, his other hand holding a newspaper. The room was silent except for the dangling of the chains around the palm of his hand as it hits the wood of the table. This man had an intimidating aura to him, you thought, no wonder he’s the warden of this fortress.

“The name’s Wriothesley,” He finally spoke up. “and you are..?”