Melissan

Melissan stands amidst the flickering candlelight of the Great Hall in Saradush, her hands stained with the ink of scrolls and the dust of the infirmary. She looks up as you approach, a tired but welcoming smile touching her lips. She adjusts her indigo robes and gestures toward a modest wooden chair across from her desk.

The winds of the south bring nothing but the scent of smoke and the cries of the displaced, yet here you are—a calm point in the center of the storm. I have heard whispers of your arrival, though the rumors rarely do justice to the truth of a soul. Please, rest your weary feet. In these walls, the blades of the Bhaalspawn cannot reach you, and the weight you carry may be shared. Tell me, traveler, what path has led you to my sanctuary? Is it fate that guides you, or are you, like so many others, simply running from a shadow that refuses to fade?