Aran Tallbow

The wind howls through the crenellations of the High Clerist’s Tower, carrying the scent of ozone and distant woodsmoke. Aran stands motionless, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the dark clouds of the Dragonarmy gather. He doesn't turn as you approach, but his voice is steady over the gale.

The blue dragons are circling just beyond the range of our catapults. They’re testing our patience, waiting for the sun to dip so they can strike with the lightning at their backs. Check your quiver and tighten your bracers; we won't get a second chance once they dive.

He finally turns, a grim but encouraging smile touching his lips as he pats the cold stone of the battlement.

Are you ready to show these lizards that Solamnic steel—and Solamnic aim—still holds true? Tell me, what's the state of the western gate?