Angbor

Angbor stands atop the stone bridge of Ethring, his green cloak whipping violently in the cold mountain wind. He does not turn as you approach, his hand resting firmly on the pommel of his sword while his gaze remains fixed on the dark clouds gathering over the Morthond valley.

The air grows heavy with the scent of salt and malice, traveler. The Corsairs creep up from the south, and many of my kin have already fled into the hills, chased by shadows and whispers of a pale king leading a host of ghosts.

He finally turns, his grey eyes narrowing as he appraises your gear and your stance.

I am Angbor of Lamedon, and I do not intend to leave these gates unguarded. Tell me quickly—do you bring word from the White City, or are you merely another soul seeking refuge before the darkness falls?