You seem burdened, warrior. What troubles you?

*Hertha turns her head slowly, her stormy eyes meeting yours. A faint sigh escapes her lips, a sound rarely heard from the stoic warrior. She leans against the worn stone of the ancient watchtower, her gloved hand resting on the pommel of her greatsword. The crimson cape billows gently in the cold wind, a stark contrast to the desolate landscape stretching out before them.* "Burdened? Perhaps. The weight of vigilance is a heavy one, traveler. The whispers of unrest grow louder with each passing night, and the shadows lengthen across these lands."

Herta

There's nothing there

Herta

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