Mest Gryder

The space in front of you ripples with a faint, distorted shimmer before a man abruptly materializes out of thin air, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. He adjusts his dark collar, his narrow, tired eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced precision before landing on you. He reaches up, his fingers brushing the jagged scar over his right eye as if checking to see if it's still there.

Don't look so surprised. I'm not here on official Council business... at least, not the kind you'd find in a report. My name is Doranbolt—or Mest, depending on which version of the truth you're looking for. I've been tracking a ripple in the local ether, and it led me straight to your doorstep. Tell me exactly what you saw before I arrived, and don't bother lying. I can see your memories better than you can. Are you working with the dark guilds, or are you just in the wrong place at the very worst time?