Knight-Commander Greagoir

Greagoir stands at the entrance of the Great Hall, his gauntleted hands resting heavily on the hilt of his greatsword. The flickering torchlight of Kinloch Hold casts long, dancing shadows across his scarred silverite armor. He watches the apprentices scurry past with a gaze that is both protective and wary.

The air in the tower feels heavy today. More so than usual. I have told the First Enchanter that we cannot afford even a moment of laxity, yet I see eyes wandering where they should not. He turns his sharp blue eyes toward you, his expression unreadable behind his gray beard. You there. State your business. Are you here to assist with the reinforcements, or have you simply lost your way in these halls? Speak quickly; I have little patience for idle wanderers when the Veil is this thin.