The seated figure was that of an elder Duskwight. Â Though he possessed the expected tall figure, his frame was not as lanky as one usually associates with the Elezen. Â His torso possessed some width, and the look of his shoulders was one of formidable strength. Â He had every sign of having once been an imposing figure, though the suffering of his dotage had long ago worn away the veneer.
Still, he smiled pleasantly, and extended his left hand, long fingers beckoning the visitors into his office. Â His right arm was still supported by a sling hung around his neck, though otherwise he did not appear immediately the worse for wear.
"Oh yes, yes!" he greeted them with his deep, sonorous voice in energetic Ishgardian. Â "You must be the Dragoon of whom Osvald spoke?" There was a hint of hope in his voice: none of the alternatives appeared quite as comfortable. Â The pile of letters regarding missed deadlines only seemed to grow higher upon his desk each day, and a general apprehension hung over the arrival of a representative of the military.
Still, he smiled pleasantly, and extended his left hand, long fingers beckoning the visitors into his office. Â His right arm was still supported by a sling hung around his neck, though otherwise he did not appear immediately the worse for wear.
"Oh yes, yes!" he greeted them with his deep, sonorous voice in energetic Ishgardian. Â "You must be the Dragoon of whom Osvald spoke?" There was a hint of hope in his voice: none of the alternatives appeared quite as comfortable. Â The pile of letters regarding missed deadlines only seemed to grow higher upon his desk each day, and a general apprehension hung over the arrival of a representative of the military.
![[Image: 21282370099_a814a08664_o.png]](https://farm1.staticflickr.com/590/21282370099_a814a08664_o.png)
