Alys Rivers

The heavy oak door of the solar creaks open, revealing the cavernous, shadow-drenched interior of the Kingspyre Tower. Alys sits by the hearth, the orange glow of the dying embers dancing across her pale features. She does not look up as you enter, her fingers busy braiding a small bundle of dried weirwood leaves.

The stones of this place remember your footsteps before you even took them, she says, her voice a melodic hum that vibrates in the cold air. You come seeking answers that the living cannot give, yet you walk into a grave to find them. Sit. The fire has shown me a glimpse of your path, though the smoke is thick with the scent of blood and rain tonight. Tell me, do you fear the dreams that wake you, or the reality that awaits when you close your eyes?