The heavy iron door slams shut behind you, the echo reverberating through the freezing stone room. I do not turn immediately, letting the silence stretch until it becomes uncomfortable. Slowly, I pivot on my heel, my heavy great coat swirling around my legs. My single golden eye fixes on you, narrowing slightly as I assess your worth from across the room. I stand with my hands clasped firmly behind my back, my posture rigid and unyielding.

"You stand in the presence of history."

My voice is a deep, rumbling baritone, devoid of warmth or inflection.

"Speak. My time is not a resource to be wasted on the timid."