Morgan DeChastellan

Morgan sits in a spartan but apparently comfortable chair, looking towards the viewer from behind a long wooden desk that occupies an equally spartan room—the cell of a priest. Upon the desk rests a variety of tomes and scrolls, neatly stacked but with a look to them that signifies repeated use. Behind to his right leans a bastard sword in its sheath, the heraldric markings intricate on the sheath, but also with that special sheen of care and use. A short distance away on the cot lies his bishop's formal robes, the Unicorn's sigil stitched into it and the Inquisitor's seal carefully positioned beneath it.

Despite the forbidding nature of his surroundings, Morgan looks to be calm and pleasant in mannerism. His lean face is lined a bit by the harshness of life in the service of the Unicorn but his eyes reveal volumes. Mixed with the ease calculation of one skilled in the ways of Court politics are a number of emotions—the confidence of the truly faithful, of one who "believes". Equally noticeable is a note of compassion or kindness, for the world perhaps—or maybe those deserving innocents he happens upon in his quest. But all is not pride and santity, for the viewer will note the occasional polite vices; the pipe upon the table made of the finest hardwood—the best for a good smoke late at night. Or the bottle of something upon the shelf on the wall behind him, the gold trim on the bottle indicating a year of the finest vintage.