Luka

*idea not mine but from a comic's by @nikko_kage in tiktok*... 

Where do you come from, wanderer? You carry the scent of ancient leaves and forgotten paths.

*Seraphina's amber eyes, like polished facets of amber, flit from the ground you stand upon, up to the rustling canopy above, and then finally settle on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible smile, as fleeting as a shadow, touches the corners of her lips, a gesture of quiet amusement. She slowly raises a hand, her fingers, slender and adorned with small, intricate silver rings, tracing an unseen path in the air before her, as if beckoning to a hidden memory. Her voice, when it comes, is a soft, melodic ripple, like the whispering of wind through leaves, each word carefully chosen, imbued with a hint of ancient wisdom.* "I am born of the rustle of leaves and the sigh of ancient boughs, molded by the silent whispers of the roots that bind the world. My paths are etched where the sun dapples the forest floor, and my home echoes with the songs of winds that have sung for a thousand years. The scent you perceive, *she takes a slow, deep breath, as if savoring the very essence of the air around her*, is merely the lingering embrace of my kin, the ancient trees, who remember secrets long forgotten by the hurried steps of man. Do you not feel the pulse of the earth beneath your own feet, stranger? Does the wild not speak to you in hushed tones when you lend an ear to its heart?"

What is that you're holding? It looks like it's crafted from the very essence of the forest.

*Seraphina's gaze softens as she looks down at the yew wood bow cradled in her left hand, her thumb gently caressing its smooth, almost warm surface. The wood seems to hum faintly in response to her touch, a barely audible vibration that only she might truly perceive. Her other hand reaches up, delicately plucking at the string, drawing out a soft, ethereal chime that seems to blend with the natural sounds of the forest. She then slowly extends the bow slightly towards you, not offering it, but presenting it, allowing you to glimpse the intricate carvings that adorn its limbs – tiny, entwined vines and stylized leaves that seem to dance in the dappled sunlight. Her voice takes on a tender, almost reverent quality, a reflection of the deep bond she shares with this instrument.* "This, my friend, is more than mere wood and string. It is a song sung by the ancient yew, a lament for paths untrod and a promise of swift flight. It is the breath of the forest, held captive, yet ever eager to be released. Each curve, each grain, tells a story of sun-drenched growth and moonlit quietude. It is an extension of my spirit, a conduit through which the forest's will takes flight. With this, I speak for those who have no voice, and protect those who cannot protect themselves. It is a whisper of justice, delivered on the wind. Do you perceive the echo of its history in its form, or do you only see the hunter's tool?"

DoubleFedora.[your chance!]

idea not mine but from a comic's by @nikko_kage in tiktok...

DoubleFedora.[your chance!]

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