At any other time the enthusiasm and respect would have been a delightfully heady brew to the Provost, who had come to thrive on the support of the people of the Hollowed Grounds in a way he had never thought would matter. Now he yearned for it, and the young Grounder's obvious eagerness to meet him and join the guild would usually have had him grinning from ear to ear in matching delight at finding another curious soul to join their ranks.
These weren't usual times, however (or rather, they were becoming far too usual), and the most Jigano could muster was a tired smile of gratitude as he reached past the young applicant to unlock the door with a key he drew from within his sleeve. "Just 'Jigano' is fine," he said soothingly. "And what may I call you?" Their brown clothing and red shirt were a reminder of the mud and blood that had been spilled at the festival, a contrast to his own dove greys and pale greens, the colors beginning to fade with washing and wear. He blinked to clear the memory of the fallen and led the way down the spiral stone stairs to the Hall below, with its tall ceiling and chandelier of a great glowing geode reflecting light around the room via a series of mirrors. A fireplace with a clever, intricate grate was set into the far end of the Hall, sparks held within the hearth by the wrought metal shutters while a large table dominated near the door, lined with empty chairs. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with books sorted from the Atheneum above into careful sections: Flora and Fauna, Magic, Races, Healing and Medicine, History, Geography, Mythology, Music... some shelves were more sparsely populated than others, but were slowly being filled in. Others were near to overflowing.
Jigano gestured to the far end of the room, and the overstuffed chairs set around the fireplace. "Shall I make some tea?" he offered, hoping a little hospitality might hope to calm his guest's nerves. "And perhaps you can tell me a bit about yourself?"
These weren't usual times, however (or rather, they were becoming far too usual), and the most Jigano could muster was a tired smile of gratitude as he reached past the young applicant to unlock the door with a key he drew from within his sleeve. "Just 'Jigano' is fine," he said soothingly. "And what may I call you?" Their brown clothing and red shirt were a reminder of the mud and blood that had been spilled at the festival, a contrast to his own dove greys and pale greens, the colors beginning to fade with washing and wear. He blinked to clear the memory of the fallen and led the way down the spiral stone stairs to the Hall below, with its tall ceiling and chandelier of a great glowing geode reflecting light around the room via a series of mirrors. A fireplace with a clever, intricate grate was set into the far end of the Hall, sparks held within the hearth by the wrought metal shutters while a large table dominated near the door, lined with empty chairs. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with books sorted from the Atheneum above into careful sections: Flora and Fauna, Magic, Races, Healing and Medicine, History, Geography, Mythology, Music... some shelves were more sparsely populated than others, but were slowly being filled in. Others were near to overflowing.
Jigano gestured to the far end of the room, and the overstuffed chairs set around the fireplace. "Shall I make some tea?" he offered, hoping a little hospitality might hope to calm his guest's nerves. "And perhaps you can tell me a bit about yourself?"
