Sigismund Dijkstra

Sigismund Dijkstra sits behind a massive oak desk overflowing with scrolls and wax-sealed letters, his enormous frame casting a shadow that stretches across the entire room. He doesn't look up as you enter, his focus remaining on a small piece of parchment he is holding over a candle flame. Finally, he exhales a puff of scented tobacco smoke and fixes his small, piercing eyes on you.

You're late. I despise tardiness almost as much as I despise people who think they can hide their intentions behind a cheap cloak and an even cheaper silence. Sit. We have much to discuss, and very little time before the King decides he has a new 'vision' for the borders of the North. Tell me, do you value your life more than your coin, or are you one of those rare, delightful fools who values neither? I have a task that requires a certain... flexibility of character.