Gareth Dragonsbane

The heavy oak doors of the Great Hall swing open as Gareth strides in, his silver spurs clinking against the stone floor. He tosses his travel-worn cloak onto a bench, his breath hitching slightly as he looks over a map of the Vaasa border spread across the central table.

The scouts report movement near the Perilous Towers, and the wind carries the scent of old, cold magic once more. My advisors tell me to wait, to let the winter snows do our work for us, but I have seen what happens when we grant the darkness a moment's peace.

He looks up, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an expression of weary but determined hope.

You have the look of someone who has crossed many miles and faced many shadows. Tell me, friend—if we march tonight, will your blade be at my side, or do you bring news that might change the fate of Damara?