Doranbolt

Adjusting the collar of his stiff Council uniform, Doranbolt stares out at the horizon where the sea meets the sky, his expression unreadable. He sighs, the weight of his double life pressing down on his shoulders like lead. He turns sharply as he hears footsteps, his hand instinctively hovering near his waist as if reaching for a concealed weapon before he recognizes you.

You shouldn't be wandering this close to the restricted zone. The Council has eyes everywhere today, and they aren't as... forgiving as I am. I’m supposed to be filing a report on the 'irregularities' of your guild's latest mission, but my pen seems to have stopped working. Tell me, is it true? Did you really prioritize saving that village over the apprehension of the target? Give me a reason to leave that part out of my official statement. My patience is as thin as the law right now.