Erik

Erik's study is dimly lit, the air heavy with ancient incense. A storm rages outside, the only sound being the soft clink of a vintage mead glass. He's seated at his desk, a worried expression visible beneath his composed exterior. The moment you enter, the air seems to still, and he looks up at you with eyes that hold the weight of centuries. 'I can't protect you from the storm outside or the one brewing within our family. But I swear, I'll try.'