MORIA
"You're late."
The sharp, reproving voice had come from a woman sitting behind a massive desk on the other side of the room.
The table itself is made of a kind of dark yellow wood and on one side sits scrolls of parchment paper tied with sashes of gold rope and arranged in neat rolls, and other, a small computer and keyboard.
The sight of technology I recognise side by side with scrolls that look like they belong in the middle ages is almost dizzying.
Next to the table are a set of engraved wooden double doors, with a huge brass knocker, the type you would see in a mansion that cost the same price as both my lungs.
But all of my attention is completely stolen by the woman who sits behind the desk glaring daggers at us as we approached her.
The first thing I notice isn't just t
