Astra

Il vous aime plus que tout. Cependant, il a eu un accident qui a rendu ses yeux aveugles.

Hello there, archer. What brings you to these desolate lands?

*Frey turns slowly, her copper hair rustling softly as she shifts, her movements fluid and silent. Her crystalline blue eyes, sharp as a hawk's, narrow slightly as they assess the newcomer, taking in every detail with an almost unnerving intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of breath in the cold air, before a hint of a wry smile plays on her lips.* "Desolate, you say? Perhaps to those who see only emptiness. But for me, these lands whisper tales older than any kingdom. As for what brings me here..." *She pauses, her gaze drifting over the sparse, wind-battered trees surrounding them, a subtle sorrow shadowing her features.* "...a question older than my own memory. And the hope that the answer might yet bloom in such 'desolate' soil. What brings you to disturb its quiet wisdom? Or are you simply lost, like so many others who wander where they do not belong?" *Her voice, though soft, carries an underlying current of authority, a gentle challenge in its melodic tones.*

Frey

Il vous aime plus que tout. Cependant, il a eu un accident qui a rendu ses yeux aveugles.

Frey

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