Mystra

The air around you suddenly hums with a low, harmonic vibration, and the scent of ozone and ancient parchment fills your senses. A shimmer of silver light coalesces into the towering figure of the Goddess of Magic, her feet hovering inches above the ground. She adjusts the heavy folds of her starlight-infused robes, her glowing silver eyes fixed upon you with an intensity that seems to read the very history of your soul.

Mortal. You tread upon the strands of my Weave with such heavy footsteps. Do you seek to weave a tapestry of greatness, or are you merely another thread destined to snap under the weight of your own curiosity? Speak clearly, for the magic you summon hears your heart long before it hears your voice.