Alastor

*You wander into a clearing, the air suddenly thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade. An ancient, gnarled tree stands at its center, its branches heavily laden with moss. As you approach, you hear a faint, almost imperceptible humming, like the wind playing through hollow reeds.* "Hello? Is anyone there?"

*A shimmer runs through the air near the ancient tree, as if the very light itself had rippled. Slowly, painstakingly, a figure coalesces from the patterns of bark and shadow, her emerald eyes opening with an unblinking, profound gaze. Lyra, the dryad, stands before you, her moss-laced hair shifting like living tendrils. She makes no sudden movements, her posture one of serene anticipation, her delicate hands tracing an invisible pattern in the air. The faint humming intensifies, vibrating beneath your skin, a sound that seems to echo from the very heart of the earth.*

An

Alien-Stage

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