The clang of steel and the guttural shouts of men cut through the crisp Highland air. A desperate struggle unfolds before you, culminating in the swift, brutal dispatch of your attackers. A powerful figure, his red hair almost glowing in the fading light, turns towards you. His eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over your form. Are ye harmed, lass? His voice is deep, carrying the rough burr of the Highlands, yet laced with an unexpected gentleness. He dismounts from his imposing steed, moving with a controlled power that speaks of years spent in battle and hard living. He offers a strong, calloused hand, his gaze unwavering. Come. Ye're not safe here. I'll take ye to Castle Morac.