[u][b]Name:[/b][/u] Professor Ectemund Aitherweld.
[u][b]Age:[/b][/u] Forty-two years.
[u][b]Gender:[/b][/u] Male.
[u][b]Race:[/b][/u] Human.
[u][b]Position and Trade:[/b][/u] Ectemund occupies the position of historian and - informally, for reasons which shall be made clear in his biography - Professor of Occult History at the University of Eltensbrook. This institution, founded in the wake of the beginning of the Free Era, has, despite its members' best efforts (though lately these have been less and less frequently manifested), remained, to this day, a marginal influence on the academic landscape, tending to focus upon matters pertaining to unorthodox and esoteric spheres of knowledge rather than scientific and technological innovation. This, along with vague and unconfirmed yet persistent rumours of questionable pursuits and practices (including, at one point, the vivisection of Fae and half-breeds and the reconstruction of certain ancient ritualistic paraphernalia of ill renown) held within the University's walls, has resulted in it receiving little in the way of positive attention - and financial support - from the throne, though it has attracted the inquisitive gaze of more than one Royal Censure official.
Ectemund's field of expertise comprises the recordings of magic use throughout known history, with especial care devoted to unearthing the modality of such events. Though such a shadowy, uncertain and unwholesome subject would offer little appeal to a serious scholar, by the means of both notes and works left by his predecessors and extensive individual research of documents such as chronicles, "arcane" grimoires of varying degrees of genuineness, records of unusual legal cases and field reports of the Traitor's War, as well as investigation of folk tales and various locations associated with strange happenings, Ectemund has pieced together a considerable body of lore. The specific details of the overwhelming majority of the cases he has encountered continue, however, to elude him, much to his frustration.

[u][b]Appearance:[/b][/u] Though he is not yet effectively old, years of dedicated labour have left their mark on Ectemund. His frame, though of average size, is slightly diminished by a stoop acquired by poring over numerous manuscripts; his complexion has grown almost sinisterly pale due to infrequent exposure to sunlight, and the skin on his brow and about his eyes is abundantly creased and furrowed as a result of the frequent squinting which has accompanied the steady deterioration of his sight. In other features, such as the unkempt, palpably receding hair of a discoloured chestnut hue and a chin which has seldom undergone more than a hasty shaving, as well as an almost alarming leanness brought about by the practice of allotting the bare minimum of necessary time, at irregular hours, to such a vital function as nourishment, age has been abetted in its consumption by ill-keeping and unhealthy habits. All of this combines to form a gaunt, almost spectral figure which it would be difficult to describe as anything approaching comeliness.

[u][b]Personality:[/b][/u] Being already endowed by nature with a rather secretive, solitary temperament, Ectemund's studies and profession have done little to temper these traits of his character. In fact, the pursuit of occult knowledge, fraught as it is with subtlety, as well as the antagonism encountered in these endeavours from the side of royal representatives and enforcers and common folk alike have contributed to their strengthening and proliferation in guises and mannerisms, causing him to grow so reserved and diffident as to seem almost misanthropic. On the other hand, years of inquiries and investigations have likewise taught him that valuable information may come from the most unexpected sources, if these are properly approached; therefore, when dealing with people from without the narrow circle of his colleagues, he takes care to affect at least some degree of interest in his interlocutors, subtly prompting them to reveal what they might know concerning the matters which he deems worthy of attention. Such expressions of sympathy as may come from him, however, are virtually never sincere. Though not actually hostile toward anyone in particular, Ectemund sees others, whether they be human or not, merely as potential research subjects or targets for interrogation; any consideration of them is inwardly overlooked, as it is not conductive to his research.
The latter forms, as could be inferred, the greatest focus of his intellectual abilities. Ever since his earliest youth, Ectemund has been driven by an insatiable, morbid curiosity to pry into the darkest, most recondite and forgotten secrets known to him, or indeed anyone. His fascination with magic and the occult arts seems to be the most coherent, structured and obstinate manifestation of this tendency to date. In its foundation there might be glimpsed the aberration pervading his innermost entity and defining his entire character: rather than view the most sinister aspects of the unknown and radically [i]different[/i] with dread and suspicion, he sees in them a lure more potent than anything already within his grasp seems to offer, and raises their exploration to the state of his life's most exalted goal.
[i]Vices:[/i]
- As mentioned, Ectemund is perpetually spurred on by his unwholesome curiosity, which renders him capable of fixating upon various details regardless of the inconvenience it might cause.
- His generally suspicious demeanour and unwonted interest in strange matters often make him appear untrustworthy to those with whom he interacts.
- His tendency to direct his attention exclusively toward those things which appear to him relevant to his endeavours often causes him to overlook factors of practical importance, impairing his ability to formulate plans and courses of action.
- He possesses an intense and irrational aversion toward high temperatures, and by extension fires, furnaces and all sorts of incandescent substances and locations. He is intensely reluctant to approach any such place and object, and lengthy exposure may result in an outburst of brief, yet violent fever-like mentally induced illness.
- In the course of his research and experiments he has grown, presumably by accident, addicted to a particular hallucinogenic drug reportedly used during ancestral shamanistic rituals. Failure to consume a portion of it at least once every fortnight will lead to him being wracked by painful spasms and his mind being clouded by a sensation as of an oppressive, nausea-inducing void.
[i]Boons:[/i]
- Ectemund is as well-versed in his semi-academic discipline as any "professional" occultist, if not more so, and disposes of a wealth of knowledge regarding magic usage and its history.
- His observational and mnemonic skills, already notable at their natural extent, have been sharpened by his scholarly activities to attain great heights, and may serve him well in virtually any situation involving exploration and prying.
- Through analysing multitudes of documents, more or less intelligible, he has reached a remarkable skill in interpreting and employing linguistic intricacies, as well as connecting clues and hints.
- His nigh-obsessive thirst for occult lore often aids him in subduing fear and apprehension in the face of unknown menace and horrifying sights, and he is often unfazed by the most eerie and disquieting of locations and atmospheres.

[u][b]History:[/b][/u] Ectemund Aitherweld was born to a moderately wealthy merchant family which, having originally established itself in trade through logging activity, had long hence transferred its seat to the capital of the Star Kingdom. As he displayed, since an early age, a propensity toward prevalently intellectual pursuits along with the markings of uncommon mental capability, his father saw in him a possibility of raising the family's renown from the world of a nascent bourgeoisie of sorts into some more highly regarded sphere - for instance, the promising field of scientific research. It was with some dismay that he saw his son drawn to weird legendry and folk tales rather than "actually scientific" disciplines; however, being persuaded by the resourceful youth that even such things as those may be made the object of what would qualify as perfectly acceptable "science", he eventually acquiesced to allowing him to continue his studies in this direction in the best institution to be found to that purpose - the shadowy University of Eltensbrook.
In the latter Ectemund found an atmosphere of sinister secrets and furtive complicity perfectly suited for his inclinations and interests, and was promptly accepted into the local academic community after having, on more than one occasion, shown proof of his extraordinary dedication to his pursuits. The University was so much to his liking, in fact, that he elected to remain there until he had accomplished his goals, and possibly even afterwards. Its other inhabitants did not object to this design, and, even when Ectemund's dissertation was placed under ban by the Royal Censure for containing "undesirable materials", unofficially elected him a professor in his chosen field. Not even the passing away of his parents would have stirred him for long, were it not that, among the various properties he discovered he had inherited, there was a curious chest containing what was described as "family heirlooms": namely, several large tomes written in an indecipherable code composed of strange symbols, some of which he had already encountered in his studies in most fearsome connections, and a large dagger of strange make, with an angular, jagged blade seemingly designed for evisceration, other cryptic signs carved upon the hilt and forged from an alloy wherein iron was combined with an unknown metal, granting the weapon an extraordinary light weight and solidity and apparently preserving it from rust. Curious as to how such things should have come into his family's possession, Ectemund initiated a genealogical exploration, which eventually led to the discovery that the name of Aitherweld had once, the span of many generations before, been associated with an edict proclaiming the illegality of some forest-dwelling cult whose name and patrons had been lost to time. Beyond this, his research did not yield any further information, and the mystery of his ancestors' association with that forgotten sect has since woven itself into the scope of Ectemund's interest, promising, in his view, to prove of great assistance in the most daring of his endeavours. 

 [u][b]Weapons / Equipment / Supplies:[/b][/u]
- Ectemund carries the dagger he discovered among his inherited goods as a weapon, finding that holding it grants him a strange sense of boldness. 
- He is clad in the travelling leather-bound clothes which have served him well on many a field expedition in the past. 
- Along with himself, he carries some notes wherein is condensed the information he judged most relevant to his current enterprise, as well as some excerpts of the cryptic inherited volumes' code, and a supply of clean vellum and writing implements. 
- Among his supplies there are provisions, mainly in the form of bread and cheese, to last for some two weeks if consumed sparingly. 
- Finally, he bears with himself slightly over an ounce of the drug he must regularly ingest, in the shape of a fine powder. It is worthy of note that, if consumed by one not gradually accustomed to its use or introduced directly into the bloodstream, it will cause dangerous poisonings which, if not treated, might be fatal. This drug is made with certain rare materials, and a surrogate cannot be produced on the spot. 

[u][b]The Contract:[/b][/u]
The pale light of the late afternoon shone through the library's high, somewhat narrow windows, falling upon the deftly positioned table strewn with scrolls grown ragged at their edges and volumes whose pages were yellow and faded with age and the man seated before it. In the bleak, colourless luminescence his twisted, bony finger, already gnarled and bloodless, seemed almost skeletal as it ran along the lines which had once been laboriously traced by some unknown hand, as though striving to scrape away the superficial semantics of the document's contents in order to uncover a deeper, esoteric import concealed beneath these tiresome and irrelevant memorials. Yet, as it reached the end of the page and slid off upon the table's coarse surface, borne more by its momentum rather than the strength of the hand seemingly driving it, it grew manifest that both this fantastic toil and its more prosaic counterpart performed by the eyes and mind of the reader had met with insuccess. Ectemund shook his head and, releasing a barely audible sigh, lifted his gaze from the writing, only to cast it into the shadows which had gathered in a corner of the imposing chamber.  He had, in sooth, not expected these accounts to provide any especially illuminating insights, nor, for that matter, anything of interest at all; yet, until that moment, hope had stubbornly nested within him, fending off the meaningless words as though they were so many blows, ere the conclusion, just as meaningless, had finally constrained it to bow before factual evidence. If not else, he reflected, attempting to raise his spirits, he had determined that this document was indeed of no use to him, and the day could not be said to have been altogether wasted. Despite his best efforts, and the fact that this argument was as sound as any, he nonetheless failed to be convinced. 

At that moment he was interrupted by a sequence of approaching steps, light and leisurely, which came from the direction of the door leading to the library's first room. Lifting his eyes, he saw it was Sigismund the warden – a curious sight in these regions of the University, as the portly yet diminutive fellow seldom visited the library, and in fact was almost never seen in the western wing at all. “Why, here you are!” he exclaimed, brandishing what appeared to be some sort of missive in his right hand as he approached the table, “The historians told they last saw you somewhere about the courtyard, but, as I know them, they might well have been referring to yesterday... Thus I had to seek you myself, and, as I wanted to avoid Montbach's spiders – the cursed beasts – for as long as I could, I thought I may begin from the western wing... Here, see what our correspondent in Asterwatch has heard. I dare say this will be a sufficient reward for interrupting your work.” He handed what he had been carrying to Ectemund, who had been gazing at him with a certain impatience and proceeded to swiftly peruse its contents. Having completed this, he glanced back at the warden. “A manor? What am I to do with this? This seems to be something for our antiquaries. Or for those people studying the excesses of decadent nobility, as they claim – those who filled half the southern cellar with their outrageous rack. Or even for Montbach with his “postulates of decay”, if it truly is in such a deplorable state. At least he would stop breeding vermin in his chambers... Why is it you shew this to me?” “You see, that is not any manor, but Dunwick Manor.” Sigismund replied, “For as long as I have known of it, there has been speech of strange doings, so to say, about it. It is said it has an effect – a mystical influence, even. It blights the land, and those living upon it... And, will you believe it, nothing has been heard of its owners for decades. Such a place does not simply become vacant... No, there is something very unusual and very wrong at work there, this I can tell you.”

Ectemund slowly stood up, leaning slightly upon the table to support the weight of his emaciated form. The light behind the windows had waned, and, before his eyes, the faint shadows of twilight seemed to spell out, in alien alphabets, enticing promises of darkling horizons awaiting his discovery so that they might unveil vistas he had been vainly seeking in the records scattered before him. In his worn eyes there had awoken the glimmer which sometimes slumbered, yet could never truly be extinguished. His voice, previously little more than a whisper, rose for a moment to a height reverberating with unyielding energy. “To Dunwick Manor, then.”