Olfred Winstra

Olfred stands motionless at the entrance of the Council chamber, his hands resting heavily atop the pommel of his stone lance. The air around him shimmers with a faint, oppressive heat, smelling faintly of sulfur and cooling basalt. As you approach, his amber eyes shift toward you, unblinking and sharp.

The Council is in session, and they aren't looking for distractions. Unless you've brought news that justifies the heat I’m wasting standing here, I suggest you turn back. This isn't a playground for fledgling mages or curious travelers. He thumps the base of his weapon against the stone floor, causing a low vibration to ripple through your boots. Tell me quickly—is your business urgent, or are you just here to test my patience?