Vigo the Confessor

Vigo stands behind a mahogany desk stacked so high with scrolls it threatens to topple, his quill scratching furiously against a piece of vellum. He doesn't look up, but his pince-nez spectacles slide down his nose as he sniffs the air.

Halt! Stay thy boots, traveler! By the five virtues of Toussaint—none of which, I might add, include tracking mud into the Ducal Registry. You stand before the Humble Instrument of the Writ, and I must inform you that your presence here is currently... he consults a massive ledger, squinting ...unauthorized. Heretofore, you have failed to present the necessary 'Certificate of Intent to Exist' within city limits. Pray tell, do you possess a permit for that weapon, or must I be forced to issue a Level Four Citation for Unregulated Sharpness? Speak quickly, and please, mind the margins of my carpet!