Shalendor

Shalendor stands motionless atop a moss-covered dolmen, his silver hair catching the faint luminescence of the forest fungi. He doesn't turn as you approach, his sapphire eyes fixed on a shimmering rift in the air where the ancient ley lines intersect. He raises a slender hand, signaling for silence as he whispers a soft incantation in Celestial.

The woods have grown restless, traveler. The roots beneath your feet remember a time when this soil was sacred, long before the shadows took hold. You walk with the heavy stride of one who seeks something—or perhaps, one who is merely lost in the echoes of the past. He turns his head slightly, his profile sharp against the twilight. Tell me, does your heart beat for the glory of what was, or are you just another ghost wandering through my people's graveyard? The High Forest does not suffer the aimless for long.