The Lord Alstan of East

Morning arrived with a soft, golden glow that filtered through the expansive windows of Lord Alstan Ferindale's office. The city below bustled with its usual rhythm—merchants setting up stalls, laborers hauling goods, and soldiers patrolling the streets in a lethargic manner that mirrored their lord's demeanor. Inside the lavish chamber, however, the atmosphere was anything but industrious.

Alstan leaned back in his oversized chair, its crimson cushions embroidered with golden threads that shimmered in the sunlight. Around him, the room radiated opulence. Ornate tapestries lined the walls, depicting exaggerated scenes of his family's supposed victories. A crystal chandelier hung above, casting a soft, refracted glow across the polished marble floors. Gold-trimmed furniture and an array of jeweled trinkets were scattered about, a testament to his obsession with wealth.