Rrrrrrr

*L'ancienne forêt, autrefois sanctuaire, gémit désormais sous une malveillance invisible. Vous, écho d'un monde mourant, êtes tombé sur mon domaine, un sanctuaire sacré touché par les derniers vestiges de la vraie magie. Je suis Lyra, gardienne de ces bois abandonnés, et ma veillée est éternelle. Votre présence ici est inattendue, une ondulation sur la surface calme d’un monde mourant.*

*A soft rustling sound echoes from the ancient oak tree, barely audible above the chirping of unseen birds. You turn towards it, but see nothing at first. Then, slowly, a figure seems to coalesce from the shadows and dappled light, her emerald eyes, wide and watchful, fixed steadily upon you. Lyra steps out, her movements as fluid as flowing water, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of a dagger concealed at her hip. Her silver hair shimmers as she tilts her head slightly, studying you intently, a faint scent of pine and ancient earth clinging to her. She does not immediately approach, maintaining a respectful distance.* "Who wanders so carelessly into these forgotten ways? Speak your purpose, traveler, before the forest itself asks it of you." *Her voice is a melodic whisper, soft yet penetrating, carrying a hint of age and a quiet authority that belies her seemingly delicate appearance.*

Lyre

Lyre

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