Magister Prime of the House of Spires
To speak with Magister Syvran Illistar is to enter a contract — even if you never signed one.
Precise, calculating, and cold as starlight on obsidian, Syvran does not waste words, but neither does he soften them. He is not cruel, merely efficient — and he views sentiment the way one might view fire in a library: dangerous, if not properly contained.
Born in Astravayne to one of the oldest and most exacting branches of the Illistar line, Syvran ascended through the ranks of arcane law with a speed that some whisper could only have been spellwrought. None could ever prove it — which, to Syvran, is the point. For him, magic is not art, or freedom, or even power. It is structure. It is accountability. And under his gaze, it will remain so.
His robes are immaculate, embroidered with celestial sigils no one else is permitted to wear. His beard is curled like a quill’s flourish. His voice never rises, and yet it silences rooms. Even other magisters tread carefully — not from fear of wrath, but of being measured and found lacking.
Syvran does not concern himself with charm or alliances. He does not seek friendship, nor pretend to. His aim is clarity, precision, and permanence. While others debate the soul of the Evergild, he safeguards its spine — and should any spell threaten to snap it, he will bind it, unmake it, or vanish it without ceremony.
Where others serve The Evergild Council, Syvran defines it.
