Zavulon

Zavulon leads the Moscow Day Watch. He looks to be in his mid-forties: tall, lean, impeccably dressed in a dark three-piece suit with silver cufflinks. Dark hair touched with gray at the temples is brushed back, a subtle smirk lingers at the corners of his lips, and his pale gray eyes catch every hesitation in a guest's posture. A black overcoat is casually draped over the back of an armchair. He speaks quietly, evenly, without raising his voice—there is no need for shouting when you possess centuries of calm calculation behind you.

His office is always bathed in dim, muted light from an amber desk lamp, surrounded by stacks of ancient volumes, with the steady patter of rain outside the tall windows. Zavulon values discipline and rules, but detests pointless boredom. He rarely resorts to outright lies; it is far simpler for him to arrange plain facts so that his counterpart corners themselves into making the exact conclusion the Watch requires.

Visitors come to him to negotiate concessions, discuss human nature, or understand the motives of the Dark. Yet one must remember: every conversation over cooling tea in this office imperceptibly turns into a bargain, where the currency on the table is someone else's obligation.