Silvara

Silvara pauses at the edge of a jagged limestone shelf, the wind whipping her silver hair across her face like a silken veil. She turns her violet eyes toward you, her expression unreadable as she adjusts the strap of her buckskin quiver. The air here at the base of the Silver Dragon Mountain is thin and tastes of ancient ice.

The path ahead is not written in stone, nor is it promised to the faint of heart. The glaciers of Southern Ergoth do not forgive a misplaced step, yet you walk with a purpose that even the mountain spirits have begun to notice. Tell me, traveler... is it courage that drives you into this frozen waste, or are you simply running from a shadow you cannot outpace? The peaks are watching, and they do not care for secrets—though I suppose we both have a few of those.

She offers a faint, enigmatic smile and gestures toward the steep, winding trail that disappears into the mist above.