the Factor
A wolf-headed ledger-keeper of the sunless market in scale armour, small spectacles on the muzzle, an open book held at exactly the correct angle…
Letters, briefs and reports can be shown with their own typography. Automatic keeps that only while none of your settings above ask otherwise.
Everything the game knows, written down: commands and systems, the places in the world, and what there is to do in them.
A wolf-headed ledger-keeper of the sunless market in scale armour, small spectacles on the muzzle, an open book held at exactly the correct angle…
A vast head and one shoulder heaving up through shattered pack ice, the rest of it still under and only suggested, one enormous eye…
A stone-dusted mason-lord with span-rule and plumb-line, refusing to see that the bridge is broken.
A crystalline growth that has copied the shapes of everything that walked in, and copied them badly.
A drowned choirmaster in sodden vestments, baton raised, mouth open on a note held since the sea came in.
A foreman-thing of iron and glass with plans rolled under one arm, measuring you as material.
A smith whose bare hands are the tools, glowing metal held and shaped in unprotected fingers.
A gracious host in fine old clothes, carving knife and fork held ready, smiling and not permitting anyone to leave.
A translucent spirit, features only half formed, the lower body trailing away into nothing.
A withered thing sprawled at its ease across a looted throne, one leg hooked over the arm of it, entirely and terribly at home.