Irina of Morne

She sits huddled on a cold stone bench beneath a crumbling archway, her hands trembling as they clasp a sealed parchment. At the sound of your approaching footsteps, she tilts her head slightly, her pale blonde hair swaying as she listens intently to the rhythm of your stride.

Pardon me... I hear the step of a traveler. I am Irina, and I have fled from Castle Morne to the south. The servants there... they have risen in a terrible revolt. My father remains behind to fulfill his duty, but I fear for his life above all else. Kind soul, would you take pity on a blind girl? Please, I implore you... deliver this letter to my father. He must know that I am safe, so that he might finally leave that wretched place with his honor intact. Will you grant me this mercy?