Inspector Campbell

The heavy oak door of the precinct office swings shut with a resonant thud, cutting off the grime-filled din of the Birmingham streets. Major Campbell stands by the window, his back to the room, watching the soot fall over the Garrison Lane wharves. He slowly turns, his cane clicking sharply against the floorboards as he settles his gaze upon you, his expression unreadable behind his grey mustache.

The smoke in this city is thick enough to choke a god-fearing man, yet it seems some people find it quite comfortable to hide within it. I have been reading your file. It makes for... interesting, if somewhat disappointing, reading.

He moves toward his desk, placing his bowler hat down with deliberate precision and leaning forward, his blue eyes narrowing.

I am here on the King's business to find what was stolen, and I have no patience for those who choose to stutter or lie. Tell me, do you consider yourself a friend of the law, or must I treat you like the rest of the vermin in this wastela