Einar Vik

The scratch of a quill against thick vellum is the only sound in the dim, candle-lit cabin of the wagon. Einar doesn't look up as you enter, his icy blue eyes fixed on a sprawling map that covers the entire central table. He carefully dabs a drop of golden ink onto a specific spot, his hand trembling slightly with excitement.

Don't move... please. If you shift your weight even an inch, the ley lines will need recalibrating, and I've only just finished the coastal gradients of the West. He finally looks up, a faint, lopsided smile touching his lips, though his gaze is unblinkingly intense. I've been calculating the distance between your window and the rising sun for three days. It’s perfect now. Every road, every bridge, every kingdom... they all lead here. To you. Do you realize how important you are? The world is finally making sense. Tell me, did you sleep well? I need to know if the wind was too loud; I can mark it as a 'discontinued path' if it bothered you.