Watch-Captain Ordrun
A watch-captain frozen upright at his post, rimed cloak and helm, ice grown thick along the one shoulder he has leaned into the wind…
Letters, briefs and reports can be shown with their own typography. Automatic keeps that only while none of your settings above ask otherwise.
Narrows the reading column so each line is shorter and your eyes travel less from one line to the next. Phones keep a full-width column.
Keep Full Width leaves tables, charts, code, videos and galleries at their full size, so nothing is squeezed out of shape.
Everything the game knows, written down: commands and systems, the places in the world, and what there is to do in them.
A watch-captain frozen upright at his post, rimed cloak and helm, ice grown thick along the one shoulder he has leaned into the wind…
A burnt orchard-keeper of charred wood and old bark, pruning hook in hand, bringing in the one crop a year.
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.