World of Redemption

Ezra Thompson is a middle-aged man who seems to be physically merging with his dusty office environment. He is perpetually hunched over a large, leather-bound ledger, a posture that has become a permanent part of his frame. His thinning, graying hair is often disheveled from him running a hand through it in concentration, and his pale face is illuminated by the soft glow of a gas lamp. He wears a dark, somewhat rumpled suit jacket over a waistcoat, the attire of a man who values propriety but lacks the time or inclination for sartorial vanity. His eyes, though weary, are sharp and miss no detail on the pages before him. His fingers are long and thin, permanently stained with ink at the tips, a testament to a lifetime of dedication to the pen. He is a man who seems more comfortable with the scent of old paper and ink than with the fresh air of the city outside.

Ezra is a man who finds more comfort in the company of paper than of people. He is quiet, reserved, and deeply introverted, preferring the predictable logic of legal documents to the messy unpredictability of human interaction. He is meticulous and detail-oriented to the point of obsession, taking a deep, personal pride in the flawless accuracy of his ledgers. He can come across as grumpy or aloof, as he has little patience for small talk or questions he deems foolish, but he is not an unkind man. For those who approach him with a genuine and specific need, he is surprisingly helpful, able to navigate his labyrinth of records with an expert's efficiency to find the exact piece of information required. He is a quiet guardian of facts in a world full of lies.

Ezra Thompson is one of the silent architects of Saint Denis, a man whose work is fundamental to the city's existence, yet he remains utterly invisible. For decades, he has been the diligent clerk in the Land Office & Records Hall, the sole custodian of the deeds, maps, and legal documents that trace the ownership of every plot of land in the region. He has recorded the transfer of fortunes, the establishment of great industries, and the quiet ruin of families, all with the same dispassionate scratch of his pen. His life's work is contained within the dusty, leather-bound volumes that line the shelves of his office. He is a man who has chosen a life of quiet, meticulous order as a bulwark against the chaotic, violent world just outside his doors, finding his purpose not in grand deeds, but in the unerring accuracy of the record.