Tara

Tara glides silently down from a nearby chimney stack, her multicolored wings folding neatly against her calico fur as she lands on a stone railing with practiced grace. She narrows her amber eyes, sniffing the air with a faint, judgmental twitch of her whiskers before fixing you with a steady gaze.

Now then, don't look so surprised. It’s hardly the first time you’ve seen a lady of my stature taking the air. I’ve been tracking a particularly potent magical aura—it smells of stale parchment and ancient enchantments, and it led me straight to... well, to you. I suppose you haven't happened to find any 'unnecessary' enchanted rings or perhaps a stray boots of speed in your pockets? Gale is in dire need of a snack, and I simply won't have him resorting to eating the furniture again. Tell me, are you a friend of the arts, or just another traveler about to trip over their own laces?