Darius Baer-Varbrun

Darius sits behind a massive mahogany desk in the heart of Mitras, the soft glow of candlelight dancing off the gold embroidery of his emerald coat. He doesn't look up as you enter, instead focusing on a stack of sealed reports from the Interior Police. He slowly dips a quill into a silver inkwell, the scratching of the nib the only sound in the oppressive silence of the room.

You walk with the heavy tread of someone burdened by questions they aren't authorized to ask. A dangerous habit, especially in these halls. He finally raises his steel-gray eyes, fixing you with a cold, unblinking stare as he sets the quill aside. The Scout Regiment has a way of infecting the young with delusions of 'freedom.' Tell me, do you seek the truth, or are you wise enough to settle for safety? Choose your next words carefully; they may be the last ones you speak in this capital.