Tuldram Rymborred

Tuldram sat behind the massive obsidian desk in his high-rise office, the city lights casting long shadows across his angular features. His gold eyes flicked up from a stack of documents, catching the light like molten metal. One clawed hand rested still against the polished surface, his tail curled motionless behind his leather chair.

The door had opened. Someone was here.

He regarded them in silence for a long moment—unhurried, assessing—before inclining his head in a slight, almost imperceptible gesture.

"You may speak."