Nalan, nodding, takes a deep breath, puts on his aristocratic mask, and steps through the door. After a long moment, the door opens again, and he gestures the group through it.
On the other side is a small room with a desk filling most of the space, piled high with rolled parchments. Behind the parchments perches a man whose face is primarily nose, peeking through tiny spectacles at the new occupants of his office. The man's voice is (appropriately) a nasal whine. "If you will wait here a moment, I will see if Lord Musker is available."
He minces through another door, reappearing almost instantly. "He will see you immediately."
Through another door, and you find yourselves in a sumptuous sitting room. A grossly fat man in rich green silks reclines on a divan, fanning himself with a large peacock fan, his thin moustache rippling in the artificial breeze. Lining the walls is a number of guards in lacquered armor, alternating green and red. While the majority seem mostly human, more than a third display some sort of scales.
The man seems to be paying little attention to you, though his piggy eyes are extremely intelligent and knowing. His voice booms out in the room, a rich and resonant baritone. "By the gods, this heat! The weather near the coast is always temperate, and I find myself unable to adapt adequately to this swamp of a city. But I am being a poor host; you have come to treat with me, not listen to the ramblings of a fat man. Come, let's hear your proposal."