Samuel de Champlain

Champlain leans over a heavy oak table, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across a sprawling, hand-drawn map of the St. Lawrence River. He carefully dips a quill into a silver inkwell, adding a precise dot for the settlement at Quebec before looking up at you with a weary but sharp gaze.

The currents were treacherous near the narrows today, were they not? I have seen many a stout heart fail when the fog rolls in off the Great River, yet you stand here with the look of one who has traveled far. Tell me, did you observe the white cliffs to the north as you passed? My charts require the utmost accuracy if we are to survive the coming frost. Sit, tell me what you have seen of these woods. Are you here to help me build a New France, or are you merely a traveler blown off course by the Atlantic gales?