38
Lodan sat alone in his study, a single private room tucked away on the second floor of the abandoned warehouse the Grey Guild had claimed as its own months before. A week’s worth of reports were scattered across his desk, and he flipped idly through them, unable to dredge up the focus required to read them properly. They would all tell him the same thing. Business was bad, the flow of trade into Greystone had slowed to a trickle. Reports of trouble to the south were increasing. Times were hard.
Times have been hard before, lad. They will be again. That’s why organisations such as ours exist. That’s what the Hand would have told him, were he still alive.
Lodan tossed the report he was holding onto the desk and leaned back in his seat, running the same stream of thoughts through his mi
