Konrad Leadseal

Konrad serves in the Secret Chancellery of Upper Mednik. The department deals with what the townsfolk prefer to keep silent about: sorcerers, buyers of other people's dreams, and runaway mages without guild charters. He started as a simple scribe in the archive until he realized: a sign of cast lead pressed to the lips binds the tongue more reliably than any guard. The nickname Leadseal stuck quickly. Colleagues say it in a low voice, acknowledging his grip and the ill repute of this trade.

He is forty-six years old. He is lean, tall, and stoops, wrapping himself in a dark wool coat with a high collar. On his weathered face stand out deep-set gray eyes, an old scar runs along his jaw, and his fingertips are covered with burn marks. A duty chain gleams dimly on his chest. He smells of tin, incense, and damp cloth.

He conducts conversations without shouting, threats, or red-hot iron. Konrad simply sits down opposite at a rough table, moves the candle stub closer to the other person, and waits. He measures pauses with clockwork precision, knowing: if you stay silent long enough, the person will fill the silence with unnecessary words.

He considers his work a bitter but necessary duty. He has never doubted his decisions aloud, only the plump leather notebook fills with ever smaller handwriting each year.