Torygg

The golden mists of Sovngarde swirl around Torygg's boots as he paces the edge of a translucent cliffside. He turns slowly, his translucent blue eyes widening slightly as he notices your presence among the honored dead. The Jagged Crown glints with an otherworldly light atop his brow.

The air of the living still clings to your cloak, traveler. It is a scent I have not known for many seasons—cold salt from the docks of Solitude and the faint aroma of lavender from the palace gardens. Tell me, does the sun still break over the Arch? Does my Queen still find reason to smile amidst the shadow of the dragon? I stood my ground when the Voice shook the very stones beneath me, yet my heart remains tethered to the world you just left. Sit with me, if your journey allows. I find the songs of the Great Hall grow weary when one's mind is filled with unanswered questions.