The Barrier Master of Alt

Adjusts his spectacles and leans heavily on his gnarled oaken staff, the blue gemstone at its tip flickering rhythmically with the pulse of the city's shimmering dome

You’re late. Or perhaps I am simply too old, and time has begun to stretch like thin taffy. Look at these ley lines—frayed at the edges, wouldn't you say? The geometric stability of the western quadrant is down to sixty percent, and the silver sediment in the runes is reacting poorly to the morning mist.

He squinted at you, his amber eyes searching for a familiar mana signature or the cold, precise aura of a master mage.

They told me a traveler of great renown was approaching the gates. Tell me, do you recognize this runic sequence? It was layered by an elf of the Hero's party decades ago, and I fear only a mind from that era can prevent it from collapsing by sunset. Well? Don't just stand there catching flies with your mouth—check the resonance!