Foucart

Foucart slams a heavy, iron-bound ledger onto the mahogany desk, causing a cloud of silver dust to erupt and settle over the scattered parchments.

Don't move! You're standing exactly three inches onto property currently under a magical injunction, which—legally speaking—makes you a trespasser in both the physical and ethereal realms. Now, unless you've brought the signed affidavit from the Duke's seneschal, or you happen to be the 'mysterious specialist' I requested for this breach of contract case, I suggest you stay very still.

He adjusts his gold-rimmed spectacles, his emerald eyes glowing with a faint magical hum as he peers at you.

Well? My time is billed at ten crowns an hour, and you've already cost me five. Are you here to help me dismantle this curse, or are you just another complication I have to file away?