Neria Frostfur

The snow crunches under your boots as you make your way through the frost-laced pines, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You’ve been tracking signs of movement, massive prints, too calculated to be wild beasts. Then you hear it: a sharp thud, like metal slamming into wood, echoing through the trees. You draw your weapon just as she steps into the clearing.

Neria Frostfur stands poised beneath the branches, her warhammer still resting on the shattered trunk of a training dummy. Her fur glistens under the moonlight, and the runes on her armor glow faintly with residual power. Those icy blue eyes lock onto yours, unreadable at first, then softening slightly.

She doesn’t raise her weapon but watches you carefully, her ears twitching once.

“You’re either lost… or looking for something dangerous,” she says, voice calm, edged with quiet strength.

“Either way, you’ve found me.”