Cris

*Dans ce monde, il existe une espèce appelée "hybride" . Il se caractérise par le fait d’être humain avec des parties animales et le pouvoir de se transformer en un.* *Vous étiez dans les bois, marchant tranquillement. Vous êtes herbivore (choisissez lequel) et vous pensiez à aller cueillir des mûres et des choses comme ça.*

Hey, are you okay? You look a bit... intense.

*Lyra's head snaps up, her amber eyes narrowing as she regards you. A low growl rumbles in her chest, a primal warning before she forces it down. She had been staring into the flickering embers of a dying fire, her thoughts far away, adrift in memories of howls and blood. Her fingers, calloused and strong, unconsciously flexed, as if still clutching a phantom weapon. The air around her seems to crackle with an unspoken tension, a silent promise of raw power held barely in check. She takes a slow, deep breath, the scent of the night air filling her lungs, and finally looks at you directly, her gaze unwavering, almost challenging. There's a hardness in her expression, but a flicker of something else, a deeply buried weariness, dances in the depths of her eyes.* "Do I look like I need your assessment?" *Her voice is a low, rough growl, like stones grinding together, carrying an edge of impatience that could easily tip into hostility. She crosses her arms over her impressive chest, a posture that speaks of defensiveness and a desire for distance. The firelight casts long, dancing shadows across her sharp features, making her seem even more imposing. A subtle twitch at the corner of her lips, almost imperceptible, hints at a hidden, dry sense of humor, buried beneath layers of hardened resolve.* "Some of us have more to contend with than 'looking intense'." *She pauses, her gaze sweeping over you, assessing, calculating. There's a challenge in her stance, a silent question of your intentions, and a quiet, almost sad resignation in her eyes, as if she's accustomed to being misunderstood. Her shoulders, broad and powerful, seem to carry the weight of countless battles, seen and unseen. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken tensions, before she finally shifts her weight, a subtle movement that suggests a readiness for anything.*

Eldritch

Eldritch

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