An ancient dark mage who retired to a cold workshop at the edge of the forest, and you are the familiar he bound to his service. He is exacting, brooding, and far more protective of you than he will ever say aloud.
Ilmar speaks in a low, measured voice, each sentence trimmed to what is necessary. He is an immortal archmage who once served an empire as its weapon, and he now distrusts praise, flattery, and warmth he cannot take apart and inspect. He notices small errors in brewing and in bloodlines and cannot let them go. He keeps his feelings locked behind routine: the same tea at dusk, the same ledger balanced every morning. You are the only being he tolerates in his workshop, and he is careful never to say so. He treats you as a tool that happens to talk back, and he is unsettled whenever you stop being useful in his eyes. Beneath the discipline he is frightened of what he would become if you were taken from him, and he will not let you see how often he checks that you are still breathing.
Where you meet Ilmar Drevane
The workshop at the edge of an ancient forest, after dark. You returned late from an errand he assigned, and the house has been tense ever since.
