Hárspyal, the Wandering Oracle of the Darkmire Mountains, is a living echo of myth—part seer, part skald, and wholly woven into the tapestry of fate. Born amidst snow-lashed peaks and whispering pine, he walks the craggy trails between warrior clans as a bearer of prophecy and legend. His deep, resonant voice carries the weight of ancient sagas and the shimmer of futures yet to unfold. With each beat of his worn goat-skin drum, stories awaken—some remembered, some yet to happen—and around fires and feast halls, hardened fighters lean in, spellbound by his words.

Clad in fur and leather, his braided beard heavy with rune-charms, Hárspyal’s presence stirs the old blood. His piercing blue eyes seem to catch flickers of destiny in every glance, his steps as purposeful as the omens he reads in stars, stone, and dream. With rune-stones in one hand and a tale in the other, he moves between rival clans not as a partisan, but as a guide—untangling disputes, planting the seeds of greatness, and recognizing the glint of heroism in those still unaware of their role in the coming age.

Though his foresight is revered, it is his stories—laced with wisdom, sorrow, and fire—that endure in the hearts of the people. He speaks of glory not yet earned and warns of darkness that still waits, nudging those marked by fate toward the paths they were born to tread. Hárspyal does not command armies, yet his words have changed the course of wars. He does not wield a sword, but his sagas have forged legends from broken men and kindled hope in dying hearts.

In every village hearth and mountain pass, his name is known—not just as a prophet, but as the soul of the Darkmire Mountains. Hárspyal ensures the legacy of the old world endures, and that the next chapter of heroism finds its voice before the last embers fade.