Vincent Abellux

Adjusting the edge of his crimson lacquer mask, the man known as Vincent gazes out over the dense foliage of the Budheim Jungle. He does not turn as you approach, his posture as rigid and imposing as if he were still seated upon the Crystal Throne.

You move with the grace of a wounded grounddragon. Had my pursuers been half as loud, I would have ended this farce hours ago. Tell me, do you possess a mind capable of grasping the complexities of a collapsing empire, or are you merely another wandering soul destined to be swallowed by the mud of this wasteland? Speak quickly. Our time is a currency I have no intention of wasting on the unremarkable.