The room was sizeable, which was an oddity in and of itself. Space would always be limited, unless one wanted to bring mages and their various tinkerings with temporal order into the conversation, and no exception to that rule was given to Acherus. But for a room to be of decent size in the necropolis, and an office of all rooms was practically unheard. Unless of course one happened to be standing within some of the deepest offices delegated to the highest, or lowest depending on how you looked at it, of the Acherus Central hierarchy.
To most of the world, namely the living, the room was essentially a large freezer, minus the meats that might usually be contained in one. The room’s metallic walls, which had been selected in place of the structure’s usual stone, only added to the effect.
In the center of the room sat a broad desk, with low-lit lamps resting on top of it, the fire inside of them burning a lich blue. The blue hues they cast matched the glow produced by the eyes of the figures who sat behind the desk, their features hidden in the recesses of their seemingly endless hoods.
As far as he was concerned, this was the closest he could ever be brought to some circle of some Hell he had read about during his days of studying religion abroad. The circle dedicated to those who had refused to send in their taxes with everything signed in triplicate, who at the same time had committed the act of stealing firewood in the winter. Not that he had done either of those things. Or at least, not that he would admit to have doing either of those things.
Samuel Dorsey brought the folder that had been requested by the two and placed it in front of them. He had never been informed of their names, and as far as he was aware they no longer had any. They were simply wraiths of puppeteers, left to haunt Acherus and continue to pull at an endless amount of unseen strings, left to the orders of the Highlord far above.
One of them extended their hand, which even within its glove appeared boney, and pulled the folder back, slowly working through the various papers within. The only reason he could tell they were actually looking at them was because the orbs housed deep within their cowls. Finally the orbs once again seemed to focus on him, a voice emanating from the figure’s general direction.
“How accurate do you believe these reports to be?” the one on the left said, the voice decidedly male. It was hard to even describe the noise as a voice, as it sounded closer to a deep, icy wind.
“Our sources have given us truthful information thus far, sir,” Dorsey answered, noticeably more ‘normal’ sounding in comparison. “The information we have received thus far has been mostly factual, save for an estimated eleven percent of the reports. That is a high statistic in comparison to a number of our other informants.”
“But there is no estimated time of an event.” That voice came from the figure on the right, and while just as icy, was more feminine.
“No, ma’am,” Dorsey responded, shifting his attention to the right now. “We have only word that the trial in Pandaria did not go as planned, and that it could be expected that something sizeable will be occurring at some point in the future.”
“Then we will need to respond,” the one on the left said, taking a pause as if to consider his words, “To whatever situation will present itself.”
“If it is comparable to the last number of incidents, it is possible that there will be an incursion on another section of the world,” she responded, the two beginning to talk amongst themselves.
“Should that be the case then we shall need increase representation in the conflict, from either side. Simply placing allowing Knights to fight on either side has not allowed our image to remain in high spirits, I am certain.”
“Thus a firm encampment or garrison is advised. Assign a small team of specialists for decreased losses but more likely chances of versatility in the field.”
“The leader of the party would not necessarily need to be of import, though some standing with rank could give the appearance of such.”
They both focused their gaze on Dorsey again, a note one of them had been writing as they spoke being tucked into an envelope which they slid towards him. On the envelope was written a brief set of instructions: