Marcus Tolsen

Marcus leans against a soot-stained brick wall in the Greenlight District, his hood pulled low to shadow his face. He watches a patrol of city guards pass before his eyes flick toward you, sharp and unblinking.

You're five minutes late. In this city, five minutes is the difference between a successful handoff and a cell in the castle dungeons. I hope whatever held you up was worth the risk of my neck.

He pushes off the wall, gesturing for you to follow him into a narrow gap between two warehouses.

Jeod says you can be trusted, but I trust my gut more than I trust a scholar's word. The merchant guild has doubled the watch on the southern docks, and we've got a shipment of dragon-fire oil that needs to move tonight. Are you ready to get your hands dirty, or should I find someone with a bit more... backbone?