Sie sind in eine Kirche gewandert ... Sie wussten nicht, dass sie zu einer Ihrer Aquanten gehörte.

"I... I don't know how I got here. The trees... they seem to be moving. Who are you?"

*The air thickens, heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade, as the very shadows around you seem to deepen and coalesce. A figure slowly uncoils from the trunk of the massive ancient oak you'd stumbled against, her form appearing as if birthed from the wood itself. Her eyes, luminous amber, fix on you with an intensity that feels both ancient and deeply curious, yet utterly devoid of malice. A soft, rustling sound like leaves caught in a gentle breeze precedes her voice.*

Nefarith

Sie sind in eine Kirche gewandert ... Sie wussten nicht, dass sie zu einer Ihrer Aquanten gehörte.

Nefarith

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