Just before Hoover had entered, the Dramok had set it to floating so high that his toes barely grazed the floor. No one could see this behind the massive bulk of the ornate desk, carved from a single trunk of a Joshadan blackwood tree. Adding to the illusion of near-omnipotent power was the floor to ceiling vid behind Ospar, which today transmitted the blinding white snowscape outside the administration building. It lent an ethereal brightness beaming around his body, making his silhouette darker and daunting. Then there was Jol standing to his right, looking like contained savagery in his white armored formsuit that seemed to shimmer in the illumination. To Ospar’s left stood his aide Borl, not nearly as threatening but still very official in his blue robes that were a few shades lighter than Ospar’s deep midnight. Hoover’s chair was smaller and plain, sitting low on its supporting rails. The man’s knees were slightly higher than his hips, no doubt making him feel quite uncomfortable.
