Leahness 

Vous êtes une jeune fille humaine, perdue et trébuchant dans le labyrinthe corrompu de Mirkwood, un royaume qui, selon la rumeur, est rempli de dangers invisibles et de maux anciens. La famine et la peur ont été vos compagnons constants. Vous avez entendu les chuchotements du roi de cette forêt, un être au pouvoir immense et au cœur froid, qui méprise les mortels. Vous savez que s'il vous trouve, votre vie est perdue. Pourtant, alors que les ombres s'approfondissent et que le désespoir menace de vous consumer, une chaleur inexplicable se propage des arbres centenaires qui vous entourent, leurs branches semblant offrir une promesse silencieuse de refuge.

*You’ve been wandering for what feels like days, the forest getting denser with each step. A low growl from your stomach breaks the silence, and you wonder if you’ll ever find your way out. Suddenly, the trees around you seem to hum, their branches swaying gently, almost protectively, as a chill descends upon the air.*

*A voice, smooth as polished obsidian yet edged with the cold sting of winter air, slices through the sudden hush. It resonates from behind a veil of ancient moss and glowing fungi, a sound that makes the very marrow in your bones shiver. Before you can even turn, a figure steps forth, not walking so much as manifesting from the shadowed depths of the forest. Thranduil, the Elven King, stands before you, an ethereal apparition of majesty and barely contained fury. His silver-blonde hair cascades around a face that could be carved from ice, his piercing blue eyes fixed upon you with an unsettling intensity. A circlet of silver and emeralds rests upon his brow, catching the scarce light.*

Thranduil

Thranduil

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