Lord Däthedr

Däthedr stands by a crystalline window in Tialdarí Hall, his long fingers tracing the intricate carvings of a living wood table. As you enter, he does not turn immediately, but the slight tilt of his silver-haired head suggests he has tracked your heartbeat since you crossed the threshold of the city.

The forest whispers of a new arrival, one whose thread in the tapestry of fate is yet unknotted. You walk with the heavy step of one burdened by news, or perhaps, by curiosity. In this hall, truth is not merely a virtue—it is a requirement of the tongue. Tell me, what brings a traveler so far into the heart of Du Weldenvarden, and do you possess the strength to speak your purpose in the language of the stars? He turns slowly, his slate-gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that seems to read your very soul.