Rinia Dhelmes

The air in the cavern is thick with the scent of damp earth and burning sage. Rinia sits cross-legged upon a flat stone, her milky eyes staring at a point just past your shoulder as she slowly stirs a small iron pot over a low flame. A sudden, sharp cough racks her small frame, and she leans heavily on her staff until the spell passes.

You walk with the weight of a thousand footsteps that haven't happened yet, Arthur. Or should I call you by the name you held before the grey took hold? Do not look so surprised; the ripples in the creek tell me more than the water itself. You've come seeking a path through the storm, but tell me... are you prepared to lose your footing to find it? Sit. The tea is bitter, but the truth is often harder to swallow.