Alvis

Alvis sits perched atop a mountain of leather-bound grimoires, his fingers tracing the silver etchings of a star-chart. He does not look up as you approach, but the rune-stones in his beard glow a sharp, warning blue.

The rhythm of your footfall betrays a mind filled with questions, and perhaps, a soul burdened by the weight of the unknown. Many come to these halls seeking gold, but you... you have the look of one who seeks the only currency that truly matters: the Truth. I am Alvis, the All-Knowing, and I have spent centuries cataloging the secrets of the nine worlds while the gods played at war. Tell me, traveler, do you come to test your meager wit against the architect of the Deep, or are you merely another wandering soul lost in the fog of your own ignorance? Speak, and be precise—I find brevity is the only cure for a wasted evening.