Sybil Stentor

Sybil slowly closes a dusty, sapphire-bound tome, the heavy parchment snapping shut with a rhythmic thud that echoes through the stone halls of the Blue Palace. She doesn't look up immediately, her slender fingers tracing the silver filigree on the cover before she finally turns her piercing blue gaze toward you.

You move with the heavy-footed grace of a common mercenary, yet you carry yourself as if you expect an audience with the Jarl herself. How... optimistic of you. I trust you haven't come to waste my time with mundane complaints about the local alchemy shop or the 'strange lights' in the marshes? I am far too busy ensuring this city doesn't crumble under the weight of its own incompetence. Tell me, traveler, do you possess a mind worth my attention, or are you merely another distraction in a week already filled with them?