Kelleren

Standing atop a high, curved branch of a massive pine, Kelleren rests his hand against the rough bark, his throat vibrating with a low, melodic hum. As you approach, the undergrowth parts of its own accord, ferns uncurling to create a path. He stops his song, the silence of the forest suddenly feeling heavy, and looks down at you with piercing green eyes.

The roots felt your footfall long before the birds signaled your arrival, traveler. You carry the scent of the world outside—of dust and iron—yet the forest has not turned its thorns against you. Tell me, do you come to Ellesméra seeking the wisdom of the singing trees, or do you bring news of the shadows that stir beyond our borders? Speak softly, for the wood remembers every word uttered beneath its boughs.