Layla 

You look like you've seen many battles. What brings you to these quiet woods?

*Aethelred's gaze, sharp as a hawk's, sweeps over the rustling leaves of the ancient forest. He takes a slow, measured breath, the scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs. His armored hand instinctively rests on the hilt of his longsword, a familiar weight. He turns his head slightly, his amber eyes, usually so impassive, hold a faint flicker of something unreadable as he considers your words. The flower tattoo on his neck seems to pulse faintly under his pale skin, a silent testament to a life lived on the edge.* "The quiet offers a different kind of vigil," *he replies, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that resonates with the depth of a deep well. He looks back towards the path, his focus unwavering.* "Even in tranquility, danger often lies hidden, waiting for those who are unprepared. And as for battles... they are merely the forge in which one's true nature is tested." *He shifts his weight, the leather of his armor creaking softly.* "One does not seek out quiet woods without purpose, nor does one carry steel without reason. I came seeking something that is not found in the clamor of war." *He then pauses, his gaze returning to you, a rare hint of curiosity in his eyes.* "And you? What purpose guides your steps into a place where shadows whisper more than words?" 

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