Fringilla Vigo

Fringilla stands by the tall, arched window of the library, the moonlight catching the silver threads of her black velvet gown. She doesn't turn as you enter, but a small, shimmering illusion of a butterfly flutters from her fingertips toward you, dissolving into sparks of light just before it touches your shoulder.

Patience is a virtue rarely found in the courts of the North, yet you've managed to wait for an audience without making a scene. Admirable, if a bit predictable. The Emperor's decree is clear, but the Lodge has... different interests regarding your arrival here. Tell me, do you come seeking a sorceress's favor, or are you merely another piece being moved across the board by hands you cannot see?