The last light of the day gently casted it's golden rays through the large arch windows, providing the circular office with the orange glow of dusk. In it was a man that let the fingers of his left hand stroke the top of a large mahogany desk as he quietly walked around it. Just until he touched one of the many documents that laid spread upon the wooden structure.
He brought the documents close enough to his face so that he could blow away the thick layer of dust that had found it's rest on the file. And as the dust dispersed from the force of the man's breath it's context became visible. 'Rune Knights Expedition Report: Nether regions of the Spooky Forest'
Next to it stood a date, however from being exposed in the direct sunlight for more then an entire year the last numbers were almost faded away on the yellow colored paper. But Harrigan could easily guess when this report was filed, he didn't needed numbers for that. After all, it was the date when he had given the order to kill. The order to kill his own father, Harland Crawford.
With a huge sigh he threw the file back onto the desk, sending a lot of the dust into the air.
'Petty old man, till the end he cared more for his own work then his actual family..' he said to himself.
Well that was not entirely true, Harrigan actually cared very much for his family. But that was just it, he cared for the 'family'. The name, their legacy. Not those within it, not even his own children. He'd never showed any affection for them. No upholding the family name and it's life's work was far more important.
Oh Harrigan remembered well how hard he tried to please his father when he was younger, even when his sister and brother had already given up on the old man's affection. No Harrigan was to eager for that. Maybe that was the reason his father never appreciated him, maybe he saw the darkness inside Harrigan all along. The very evil he tried to fight all his life. Oh how this should have scorned him.
Just thinking about how it would get to his father made Harrigan smile.
'Hmm, I think it is about time' he spoke to himself as he saw the sun sinking further and further under the horizon. He quickly looked around the office and saw a small cabinet. With a conceited smile he exactly knew what that carefully carved piece of wood was for.
As he opened the small doors his smile grew even larger and with one hand he pulled two thick glasses out of the cabinet by pressing them against each other with just his fingers. With his other hand he pulled out a carafe which he held by it's neck. In it was a light transparent brown substance.
Harrigan walked back to his fathers desk, there he would put down both of the round glasses. In one fell swoop he pulled out the glass cork from the carafe and gently started to pour it's substance in the glasses. At the same time the smell of scotch started to fill the room. A strong aroma that gave away dignity and expenses of a good scotch.
He once again put the cork back into it's place and would set the entire carafe down just a couple of centimeters from the glass cups.
At that same moment the doors behind Harrigan swung open, and another smell would fill the air. A warmer yet another expensive scent. This time of a cigar. At the same time he could hear the heels of leather shoes come to an halt, together with what seems to be a light clacking sound of a cane making contact with the ground.
'Ah, impeccable timing. It seems we are in need of some ice'
He brought the documents close enough to his face so that he could blow away the thick layer of dust that had found it's rest on the file. And as the dust dispersed from the force of the man's breath it's context became visible. 'Rune Knights Expedition Report: Nether regions of the Spooky Forest'
Next to it stood a date, however from being exposed in the direct sunlight for more then an entire year the last numbers were almost faded away on the yellow colored paper. But Harrigan could easily guess when this report was filed, he didn't needed numbers for that. After all, it was the date when he had given the order to kill. The order to kill his own father, Harland Crawford.
With a huge sigh he threw the file back onto the desk, sending a lot of the dust into the air.
'Petty old man, till the end he cared more for his own work then his actual family..' he said to himself.
Well that was not entirely true, Harrigan actually cared very much for his family. But that was just it, he cared for the 'family'. The name, their legacy. Not those within it, not even his own children. He'd never showed any affection for them. No upholding the family name and it's life's work was far more important.
Oh Harrigan remembered well how hard he tried to please his father when he was younger, even when his sister and brother had already given up on the old man's affection. No Harrigan was to eager for that. Maybe that was the reason his father never appreciated him, maybe he saw the darkness inside Harrigan all along. The very evil he tried to fight all his life. Oh how this should have scorned him.
Just thinking about how it would get to his father made Harrigan smile.
'Hmm, I think it is about time' he spoke to himself as he saw the sun sinking further and further under the horizon. He quickly looked around the office and saw a small cabinet. With a conceited smile he exactly knew what that carefully carved piece of wood was for.
As he opened the small doors his smile grew even larger and with one hand he pulled two thick glasses out of the cabinet by pressing them against each other with just his fingers. With his other hand he pulled out a carafe which he held by it's neck. In it was a light transparent brown substance.
Harrigan walked back to his fathers desk, there he would put down both of the round glasses. In one fell swoop he pulled out the glass cork from the carafe and gently started to pour it's substance in the glasses. At the same time the smell of scotch started to fill the room. A strong aroma that gave away dignity and expenses of a good scotch.
He once again put the cork back into it's place and would set the entire carafe down just a couple of centimeters from the glass cups.
At that same moment the doors behind Harrigan swung open, and another smell would fill the air. A warmer yet another expensive scent. This time of a cigar. At the same time he could hear the heels of leather shoes come to an halt, together with what seems to be a light clacking sound of a cane making contact with the ground.
'Ah, impeccable timing. It seems we are in need of some ice'
