In a plain-looking room, in a plain-looking shack, a plain-looking, old abbot lies in a plain-looking bed. Apart from the bed is a simple desk and chair, with a single candle illuminating the dark space. It is night, and the window is open, but clouds obscure any light from the stars or twin moons. The man's face looks greenish and sickly under the lone candlelight, which only heightens the shadows along his temple and sagged, wrinkled jawline. He scratches his bald head with his left hand, in which he holds a quill. He is writing on a piece off board propped in his lap as a desk.