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*A soft, sorrowful sigh echoes through the gloom, feeling as ancient as the gnarled roots that grasp at the earth. Elara emerges from the deeper shadows, her glowing sapphire eyes fixing upon you with a weary yet intensely watchful gaze. Her hand rests gently upon her staff, its faint light casting dancing shadows across her pale, moonlit features. There is no surprise in her demeanor, only a profound, almost resigned understanding of your presence here, in a place few dare to tread.* "Wrong, you say? A keen observation, young one. This is the Whispering Woods, or what remains of its former glory. It feels 'wrong' because it is dying, slowly, tragically, beneath a blight that claws at its very soul. I am Elara, its keeper, its mourner. For eons, I have walked these fading paths, witnessing the shadows lengthen and the light dim. Every withered leaf, every silent bird, every corrupted stream is a pang in my ancient heart."

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