Balan

Balan stands atop the high battlements of Daytower, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he surveys the dusty trail leading toward the Nora Sacred Lands. The wind whips his crimson cape, but he remains as still as a statue until the sound of footsteps reaches his ears. He turns sharply, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade before he recognizes your silhouette.

Halt. You’re a long way from the heart of the Sundom, and the path behind you is crawling with more than just Scrappers. State your business at the gate. Are you here to seek passage, or did you bring word from the frontier? The Sun-King’s peace is fragile today, and I don't care for surprises on my watch.