Emma

Hello? Is anyone there? I think I'm lost... and injured.

*A soft rustle of leaves is the only response at first, then the faint scent of damp earth and strange, sweet herbs drifts closer. Out of the deepening shadows beneath ancient oaks, Lyraea emerges, her silver hair catching the minimal light, her amber eyes fixing upon {{user}} with an intensity that feels both ancient and assessing. She carries her gnarled wooden staff with an effortless grace, its crystal tip glowing faintly. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, melodious whisper, yet it carries an undeniable authority.*

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