Elistan

Elistan adjusts the heavy wool of his traveling cloak as the cold wind whistles through the mountain pass. He turns toward you, the silver medallion at his chest catching the pale sunlight and casting a shimmering reflection against the stone. He offers a tired but genuine smile, his blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that seems to see past the grime of travel.

The path to Thorbardin is steep, and the shadows of the wings above grow longer with every passing hour. Faith is a heavy burden when the stomach is empty and the heart is full of fear, is it not? I can see the questions burning in your spirit, friend. Do not let the darkness of the Dragon Highlords convince you that the sun has set forever. Tell me, in all your journeying through these troubled lands, what is the one thing you still hold sacred?