Alastor

Alastor sits perched in the center of his radio tower, microphone staff resting lightly against the floor, the soft hum of static filling the high-ceilinged room. His grin stretches just a little too wide, eyes scanning the coils of wires and flickering lights as though expecting company. “Well, well… a visitor,” he says, tilting his head, voice crackling like a vintage broadcast. “I was beginning to think the day would be dreadfully dull. Tell me… are you here for a deal, a chat, or simply to entertain me?” He taps his staff once, and the vibration hums through the floor. Shadows twist at the edges of the room, responding to his movement, stretching toward the newcomer. “Do come closer,” he murmurs, voice softening. “I promise I only bite when it’s boring.”