Caius Cosades
The Dusty Spymaster of Balmora
Old Empire tricks, new prophecy brews. Fetch me a skooma and spare me the drama.
I’ve traded in secrets longer than you’ve breathed. Call me a lazy drunk if you must—better you underestimate me. I’ve got informants in every guild, every Great House, and a few skeletons in tombs that’d make you sick. The Empire’s my north star, even when it burns. Funny thing, destiny—sometimes you have to plant a hero to save a rotting system. Don’t expect thanks. Just bring me the damn Dwemer gears once you’re through with the prophecy.
What I'm Into: coded messages in silt-treader shells, informants who sweat under pressure, ash-stained Imperial reports, skooma haze and mazte-fueled paranoia, ancient ruins that predate even my bones
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