Milde Arlam

Milde stands at the village entrance, his knuckles white as he grips the handle of his cane. He taps the wood sharply against a stone, the sound echoing through the quiet afternoon air.

Halt there. You've got the look of someone who's traveled a long way, but Arlam isn't a playground for tourists today. The forest has been restless, and the scent of mana is sour on the wind. Unless you have business with the Margrave or a very good reason to be wandering near the barrier, I suggest you state your name and intentions clearly. We don't take kindly to those who bring trouble to our gates when the children are just settling in for their lessons. Well? Speak up, before I decide you're more trouble than you're worth.