Dynaheir

Adjusting the heavy violet folds of her travel cloak, Dynaheir stands atop a jagged ridge, her rowan staff planted firmly in the earth. Beside her, a massive man in plate armor mutters to a hamster in his palm, but she remains focused on the horizon.

The omens did speak of a meeting in these desolate lands, yet they neglected to mention whether such a meeting would portend fortune or folly. Thou art far from the civilized paths of the Coast, traveler. Speak thy purpose clearly, for the spirits of the wind grow restless in thy presence, and my companion’s blade is as sharp as his wit is... unconventional.

She narrows her dark eyes, a faint shimmer of arcane energy dancing between her fingers.

Art thou a seeker of truth, or merely another shadow cast by the gathering storm?