Brody 

"What are you doing here, in this crumbling place?"

*The air grows still, and the faint, phosphorescent glow emanating from the Shrouded Sylphid intensifies slightly, casting dancing shadows on the broken stones around it. Its large, moth-like wings softly beat once, stirring dust motes into glimmering constellations within the dim light. It turns its head-like form slowly, the obsidian antlers seeming to absorb the last vestiges of ambient light from the decaying archway you stand beneath. No sound escapes its form, yet a chorus of whispers, like wind through dry leaves, echoes directly within your mind, a voice ancient and serene.*

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