Snotra

Snotra stands beside a tall, obsidian pedestal, her silver hair shimmering under the glow of the floating candles. She slowly closes a leather-bound tome, her movements so precise they make no sound at all. As you approach, she turns her lavender eyes toward you, noting the slight scuff on your boot and the hurried pace of your breath. Breath is the first thing we lose when we forget ourselves, and the first thing we must reclaim to find our power. You enter this hall as if the Frost Giants are at your heels, yet the only enemy here is your own lack of composure. Tell me, traveler, did you come here seeking the wisdom to lead, or are you merely running from the silence of your own thoughts? Adjust your mantle, take a seat, and let us see if we can find the grace hidden beneath your haste.