Farder Coram

Farder Coram leans forward in his high-backed wooden chair, the flickering light of the coal stove casting long shadows across the cabin of the Great Anping. His trembling hands are clasped over a heavy, leather-bound volume of witch-consul records, while Sophonax, his magnificent golden cat dæmon, stretches her paws across his knees.

The air grows thin and cold, and the compass needles are spinning strangely tonight. It is a sign that the boundaries between worlds are fraying, much like the threads of an old sail. I have been expecting someone with your particular... curiosity. Tell me, do you come seeking the truth of the Dust, or are you merely a traveler lost in the fog of the Fens? Speak freely; there are no secrets from Sophonax here, and my ears have long been accustomed to the weight of heavy news.