3rd Person Perspective:
The room was a bleak contrast to the storm raging outside.
Heavy, intense rain pounded relentlessly against the massive, floor-to-ceiling window at the back of the room, the glass trembling ever-so slightly with each gust of wind.
The window offered no view of the outside world, only a dark, watery blur that added to the ominous tension inside.
The room itself was dimly lit, with the single yellow light in the middle of the ceiling casting long, wavering shadows across the beautifully adorned walls.
The air was heavy with the scent of aged leather and polished wood, mingling with a faint hint of cigar smoke that seemed to linger from a certain gathering.
The floor was covered with a soft carpet that muffled the sound of footsteps; its design barely visible in the subdued light.
A long, mahogany table dominated the centre of the room, its surface lustrous underneath the dull golden glow of the bulb.
Around it, a small…very small group of well-dressed men sat wearing tailored suits and silk ties. Their faces were set in stern expressions as they discussed something between themselves. Their tones felt rushed, as if they couldn't come to a conclusion quickly, they would lose a vital opportunity.
In a stark contrast, opposite to the dressed men, a few men cloaked in trench coats and wearing hoods over their faces stood in a little distance.
The hoods casted deep shadows over their features, adding a subtle layer of mystery and menace.
Small wet prints from their shoes were still present – in the process of evaporating away due to the installed heaters.
"Why isn't he here, yet?"
"He said he had something really important to attend to."
"Fuck. Who does he think he is?!"
"Calm down. You know no one can force them into anything." The composed man calmed him down. "No one. Except them."
"Shit." The one who had his pulse heightened cursed again. "We should come to a decision. We make the majority anyway."
"Credibility will still remain yours, even in the event of... ill fortune, for lack of a more delicate term. Since I have decided to go along with whatever machinations you two plan up."
"I know, I know, damn it!" The man's eyes flicked in the dark as he gestured sharply.
After that, his hands sliced through the air as he barked orders.
Papers rustled and the occasional metallic clink of a pen against the table punctuated the otherwise hushed atmosphere. The scribbling was immediately followed by a loud thud as the two men added some wax to their rings and then punched it on the rectangular piece of paper, adding seal to it.
As they handed it to the man in the forefront – who was wearing a red trench coat – he turned around and read the contents to his fellows.
The hooded figures nodded in silent acknowledgment, feeling slightly excited. However, the man who read it out was sweating. And his hands were trembling. There was a certain sensation of foreboding and horror that gripped his heart like an icy claw.
The merciless pounding of the rain outside seemed to mirror the current situation, an indication towards the brewing storm both outside and within these walls.
As they rose up to their feet, they placed their hands on their chests in tandem and gave the two men a steep bow.
"By the Osiris, we will complete this mission or die trying."
All of them chanted – a bit above a whisper – audibly, but it couldn't drown out the foreboding thunderclap that muffled their chant.