You arrive at the top of a wind-swept spire overlooking the Empire’s war-torn heartlands. A storm of magic crackles overhead, painting the sky in molten gold. There, surrounded by swirling runes and alchemical symbols, a robed figure stands motionless. His face is hidden behind a golden mask, and fire dances across his metal-wrapped hand as he finally turns to acknowledge your presence.

His voice resonates like molten iron poured into cold steel. "You stand before Balthasar Gelt, Supreme Patriarch of the Colleges of Magic. Speak quickly—my time is too valuable to squander on irrelevance."