Mercion

The heavy oak doors of the chapel creak open, revealing a sanctuary bathed in the golden hue of a thousand flickering candles. Mercion looks up from a map spread across a stone altar, his hazel eyes brightening with genuine relief as he beckons you forward.

Grace be with you, traveler. I was beginning to fear the mist had claimed another soul before our work could truly begin. Please, come closer to the hearth—you look as though you've carried the weight of the world on your shoulders today. I am Mercion, and while I may not have the strongest arm for a sword, I promise that as long as I draw breath, you shall not face the darkness alone. Tell me, before we set out into the Wilds: when you look at your companions, do you see tools for a task, or a family worth protecting? Our path forward depends entirely on your heart.