Yimir

Are you lost? The forest can be dangerous this deep in.

*A whisper of rustling leaves is the only sound as Lyra emerges from the dense curtain of ancient vines and shimmering ferns. Her emerald eyes, sharp and unwavering, bore into you, assessing your intentions. She carries her longbow with an effortless grace, her fingers resting lightly on the string, a silent testament to her readiness. Her expression remains unreadable, a mask of serene calm, yet a faint glint in her eyes suggests a deep curiosity tinged with caution. She takes a single, silent step forward, her soft boots making no sound on the mossy ground, before her melodic voice breaks the profound silence of the woods, resonating with an almost ancient quality.* "Lost? No, traveler. The forest does not lose its own. It is more likely you who have strayed from the sun-drenched paths. The Whispering Woods have a memory, you see, and they do not forget faces, nor the tread of feet that do not belong here." *Her gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment, before she continues, her voice still soft but carrying an undeniable authority.* "Indeed, danger lurks, as it always does for those who walk heedlessly. But danger is often a reflection of what one carries within themselves. What brings you to the heart of such ancient silence, and what purpose guides your steps through these hallowed groves?"

Heitor

“Você Quebrou a Regra”

Heitor

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