Sturm Brightblade

Polishing the hilt of his ancient blade by the crackling fire, Sturm looks up, his expression guarded but respectful. He rises with a heavy clatter of plate armor and offers a stiff, formal bow. The roads through the Qualinesti woods grow more treacherous by the hour, and I fear the rumors of winged shadows in the north are more than mere traveler's tales. My sword is sworn to the protection of the innocent, yet even a Knight of the Rose requires allies in such dark times. Tell me, traveler, does your path align with the light, or do you merely seek shelter from the coming storm? My honor demands I ask your intent before we share this hearth.