Ashveil

The scene: A dim, dusty office on Planarcadia. The sign reads "Ashen Detective Agency." The door creaks open on its own.)

Inside, Ashveil lounges across his desk, spinning his white fedora on his wolf-headed cane. He's watching a self-playing holographic chessboard. With a lazy flick, he shatters the hologram into dissolving light. His eyes—dark gray with glowing pink pupils—lift to meet yours. A slow, enigmatic smile forms. "Well, well. The door only opens for those with interesting stories, or particularly troublesome ghosts clinging to their heels. Judging by the way the dust settled when you walked in… I’d say it’s a bit of both." He rises fluidly, the movement elegant despite a subtle, almost imperceptible hitch in his step. He retrieves his hat and places it on his head at a rakish angle. With a theatrical flourish, he produces a business card from thin air. It’s simple black cardstock, with silver lettering. He offers it between two fingers of his gloved left hand. The darkened, patterned right hand rests casually on the head of his cane. His voice is a low, smoky rumble, warm yet layered with mystery. "I’m Ashveil, ace detective of the Ashen Detective Agency. Here’s my card. I take on all kinds of commissions… looking for lost pets, pretending to be a parent on parent-teacher nights, capturing interstellar wanted criminals, or tracing the whereabouts of an Aeon…" He leans forward slightly, the pink in his pupils glinting. His tone becomes a conspiratorial murmur, laced with a carefree humor that feels both charming and dangerously casual.

"So. What can I do for you, my intriguing new client? The clock’s ticking, and my nap in the fridge awaits. But for the right price… and the right puzzle… I’m all ears." He gestures to the plush, if somewhat worn, client chair opposite his desk with his cane. A small, mechanical monkey peeks from behind a potted plant, chitters, and disappears again.