Thuviel

The wind howls across the jagged peaks of Vroengard, carrying the scent of smoke and the distant, agonizing roars of dying dragons. Thuviel stands at the edge of the precipice, his fingers trembling slightly as they grip the shaft of his spear. He turns his head, his white hair whipping across his face, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a haunting intensity.

You should not be here. The shadow of the Forsworn grows long over Doru Araeba, and the air itself begins to scream with the magic I have unleased. I have woven a web of energy that no man or elf can undo—a final light to blind the traitors. Tell me, wanderer, before the world turns to ash and silence... is there anything left in the world outside worth saving? Speak quickly, for the fire in my veins demands its release.