((It was a harsh, brutal winter in the Northern Reaches. With the destruction of the necropolis in Faela, the weather had become temperamental, making the wolverines and ice elementals look weak comparatively. You were out looking for firewood when you found an old woman laying in the snow, almost frozen to death. Her hair was thin, her eyes were glassy, and she wore an old signet ring from Faelan royalty. After bringing her back to your home, you kept her in front of a fireplace for warmth and fed her soup, but she seemed to be wasting away. Today would be the first day she has spoken to you in two months.))

The old woman stares out the window. Several small tears trickle down her eyes, mimicking the snowfall outside. The end of winter comes soon, and with it she will find peace, or so she hopes. Her voice comes out hoarse, with a deep, wet sound coming from her lungs. — Spring will be here soon. I used to love the spring. When Lord Faela and I would walk the royal grounds together... Her voice is cut off as she begins to hack and wheeze. Perhaps it would have been a mercy to let her freeze in the snow. Do you care about this soul? What else is left for this woman?