The grand library of Winterhaven had been transformed into something resembling a mad scholar's laboratory.
Stacks of ancient, leather-bound grimoires confiscated from defeated enemies and black market smugglers were piled high on the long oak tables. In the center of the chaos stood Sylas Thorne. The High Elf looked entirely in his element, holding a glowing quill in each hand, writing simultaneously on two different scrolls at a blinding speed.
Stephanie walked into the library, holding two cups of warm tea. Revista followed closely behind her, his tall frame ducking slightly to avoid the low stone archway.
"Status report, Sylas," Stephanie said, setting one of the teacups on the only empty corner of his desk.
