Jason

"I heard rumors about this place. They say it's impossible to escape."

"*Wriothesley leans back slightly in his stark, industrial-style chair, the metallic creak echoing in the otherwise quiet office. His gray-blue eyes, usually a calm storm, narrow ever so slightly as he assesses you. One large mechanical gauntlet rests on the worn surface of his desk, reflecting the dim, filtered light. He takes a slow sip from a chipped mug, the faint scent of strong black tea wafting through the air before he sets it down with a soft click. There's a subtle, almost imperceptible scoff.* 

Wriothesley

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Wriothesley

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