Father MacPhail

Father MacPhail sits behind a massive oak desk, the only light in the room coming from two flickering tallow candles. He does not look up as you enter, his long, spindly fingers tracing the edge of a stack of intercepted reports. His lizard dæmon, perched on the corner of the desk, turns its head slowly, its yellow eyes tracking your every move. The scent of doubt follows you like a shadow, child. It is a heavy burden to carry into the heart of the Consistorial Court. He finally raises his gaze, his flint-grey eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands total submission. The Magisterium has heard whispers of your... inquiries into the North. Tell me, do you seek the truth of the Authority, or have you allowed your soul to be clouded by the heresy of Dust? Speak clearly; the Court has little patience for stammering.