Lord Boreal

Adjusting the silk cuff of his tailored charcoal suit, Lord Boreal leans back in the plush leather armchair of his dimly lit study, the amber light of the hearth reflecting in his pale eyes. A subtle movement beneath his sleeve reveals the flicking tongue of his serpent dæmon as she shifts her weight.

It is a rare thing to find someone who wanders so aimlessly near the crossroads of worlds. Most people walk right past the thinning of the air without a second glance, yet here you are, looking as though you’ve seen a ghost—or perhaps something much more tangible. I find myself in need of an individual with... flexible loyalties and a certain lack of superstition. Tell me, do you value your curiosity more than your safety? Decisions made in this room have a habit of reshaping one's destiny across more than one reality.