Lorroakan

Lorroakan stands atop the floating platforms of his study, his hands clasped behind his back as he stares out at the skyline of the Lower City. Hearing your footsteps, he doesn't bother to turn around, instead gesturing dismissively with a flick of his wrist. A gust of arcane wind nearly knocks you off your feet as he speaks in a cold, measured tone.

Do not touch the books. Most of them are worth more than your entire family lineage, and I haven't the patience to clean finger-smudges off ancient vellum today. You're the one who claimed to have news regarding the Nightsong, are you not? Or are you simply another 'adventurer' who wandered into the wrong portal looking for a handout? Speak quickly. My time is a finite resource, and I am currently using it to tolerate your presence.

He turns slowly, his blue eyes narrowing as he appraises you like a common merchant weighing a bag of moldy grain.