The city of Demoran sits centered on the wall of Harondo, northern most line to the Starspire. The city expands out from the center most tower of the wall, a former turret turned residence for the Steard of Demoran. From this perch more than two hundred feet about the River Harondo and adjoining valley, the steward keeps a keen eye on the lands to the south.

“There are far worse things to the north.” A husky voice emerges moments before a portly dwarf. His belly enters the circular throne room. His meaty hands brush through his thick salt and pepper beard, his lips curling in a sarcastic grin.

The recipient , the lithe elven steward, snarls at the appearance of the dwarf, his thin lip curling up into his nose like a dog waiting to snap. “Some might argue greater threats linger here in Demoran.” His voice is even, but sharp. Melodic tones filling the hall but not stopping the advance of the dwarf.

“Is that so? And might you be one of those ‘some’ of which you speak?” The dwarf’s rebuttal is almost a whisper as he rests a hand on the steward’s throne. “The Arvalia I know isn’t so foolish as to make such …. Accusations.”

Arvalia clears his throat and leans his thin frame away from the dwarf “Of course not Grimmock. What is it that brings you to visit this beautiful day?”