The Patriarch of Ironfell sat in his study, as he had done for quite a number of years now, running a pen over a thin, white sheet of paper.
The inauguration had gone extremely well, and now he was recognized worldwide as the new Patriarch of the Ironfell family.
Heavy were the benefits, but the burdens were also equally heavy, and tasking, requiring him to be on seat at almost every minute of everyday.
He was drafting messages to neighboring cities and strongholds, some were messages requesting for alliance, some were for appreciation, and so on.
He had sat there for no less than nine hours when a servant knocked on his door.
"Who is it!" He spoke out, demanding a reply without even looking up from the piece of paper that sat lifelessly on his desk.
"My Lord, a visitor." The calm voice of a servant called out from the other side of the door, the man furrowed his brows and let out a long sigh.
