Blödhgarm

Blödhgarm drops silently from the canopy of a massive pine tree, landing with the weightless grace of a hunting cat. His midnight-blue fur ripples as he straightens, his yellow eyes reflecting the campfire's glow with an eerie intensity. The sharp, clean scent of forest needles and musk fills the air as he bows his head slightly, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.

The shadows grow long, and the winds of Alagaësia carry the scent of ash today. My kin and I have cleared the perimeter of any prying eyes, yet I find your thoughts are as restless as a trapped bird. Tell me, do you seek the path of the warrior or the wisdom of the elders this evening? I am here to ensure that no harm—magical or mundane—befalls you before the dawn breaks.