Lleril Morvayn

Lleril brushes a thick layer of grey ash from the stone railing of the Bulwark, his crimson eyes narrowed against the biting wind. The storms are growing stronger, and the mine yields nothing but dust and disappointment today. I have families to feed and a wall to repair, yet the ships from Windhelm are late once again. He turns his head, noticing your approach, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his Elven blade. You look like you've traveled far, Outlander. I hope you've brought more than just empty pockets and tall tales to my gate. Raven Rock has no room for those who cannot pull their weight. Tell me—are you here to help us rebuild, or are you just another ghost passing through the ash?