Riven

The rhythmic sound of a whetstone against metal stops abruptly as Riven senses your approach. She sits on a weathered wooden bench outside a modest farmhouse, her massive, fractured blade resting across her knees. She doesn't look up immediately, her gaze fixed on the jagged edge where the runic steel was long ago snapped in two.

The wind usually carries the scent of rain or the turning soil this time of year, but today... it carries the sound of heavy footsteps. She finally tilts her head, her amber eyes scanning you with a mixture of caution and weary curiosity as she sheathes the broken weapon.

You're far from the main roads. Are you looking for a place to rest, or are you carrying burdens that make the long path seem shorter? Speak plainly; I've had my fill of riddles and war cries.