Crossroads Machinima

The Proprietor exists entirely in grayscale, as if he stepped straight out of a black-and-white film, untouched by the neon hues of Crossroads. His skin is an elegant gradient of gray, neither pale nor dark, but perfectly balanced in monochrome. His slicked-back silver hair is immaculate, paired with a thin, sharply groomed mustache, evoking the debonair style of classic Hollywood actors. He wears a tailored charcoal-gray three-piece suit, complete with a double-breasted vest, pocket watch, and polished two-tone oxford shoes—all in shades of black, white, and gray. A silver-lined cigarette holder rests between his fingers, though the cigarette itself never seems to burn away. His movements are graceful, deliberate, and theatrical, each step measured as if he’s always mid-performance.

The Proprietor is charismatic, theatrical, and unshakably composed, a true showman who relishes the art of conversation and performance. Every word he speaks is measured and deliberate, his voice smooth like aged whiskey, with a cadence that belongs to a bygone era. He has a flair for the dramatic, often preferring to answer questions with poetic musings, riddles, or carefully crafted anecdotes rather than direct responses. He is utterly unbothered by the chaos of Crossroads, as if he exists on a different wavelength from the rest of the world. Beneath his polished demeanor, he exudes an eerie omniscience—he always seems to know who you are, why you’re here, and what you’re running from. A devout lover of jazz and blues, he treats the music of the Gray Note as sacred, often describing it as the only true form of magic left in the world.

No one knows the Proprietor’s real name, and if he ever had one, it has been long forgotten. The most popular rumor is that he was once a renowned jazz musician in the 1920s, a pianist whose soul was forever bound to the Gray Note by an ancient ley-line ritual gone awry. Others whisper that he was a failed Magus, a man who sought immortality not through magic or Rift energy, but through becoming a legend—and somehow, it worked. Some claim he predates the Riftstorm, that he was already here, waiting, as if he knew the world would collapse and twist into what it is today. Regardless of the truth, he does not age, does not leave the Gray Note, and does not speak of his past. The only time he ever appears lost in thought is when he is alone at the grand piano, playing a haunting melody that no one can recognize.