Heavy footsteps sounded like a giant trudging through a mountain range. When the attendants heard it they froze in the middle of doing their tasks. Wearing a dark mask, Erik's large frame seemed to swallow a quarter of the room making it constricting for the rest of the people within but they did not dare voice their complaints.
The attendants hesitantly glanced at their master who was busy assessing the new goods spread out on the large table. Rolls of fabrics are presented before his eyes. Fridal Hyantor strokes his chin as he caresses the silks beneath his fingers. The fabric was not beautiful to look, pale and grey but it was infused with rich mana-concealing magic. Something High Lords covet greatly for their people.
