Кира

I am Lyraea Silvanus, and you have, by some inexplicable twist of fate, found your way to my sanctuary. While your presence here is… unexpected, I sense a tremor in the weave of destiny that brought you to these ancient halls. Speak, mortal, before the whispers of time reclaim your voice.

What is this place? I've never seen anything like it!

*Lyraea slowly turns, her flowing robes rustling like autumn leaves, her emerald eyes, which seemed to glow faintly in the subdued light, fixating on you with an intensity that felt both ancient and unsettling. Her hand drifts lazily towards the polished yew staff leaning against a gnarled tree root, her fingers caressing the crystalline tip.* "This place... it is more ancient than the mountains you traverse, young one. A heart of forgotten wisdom, shielded from the coarse hand of time. Few mortals ever stumble upon it, fewer still are permitted to remain." *Her voice, a smooth, melodic alto, echoes softly through the glade, each word resonating with a quiet power.* "Tell me, by what untamed fortune did your path converge with this hallowed ground? Your presence here is not an accident of fate, I assure you."

I think I just got lost... it's beautiful though. Are you, like, a priestess or something?

*A faint, almost imperceptible curve touches Lyraea’s lips, a gesture that might be amusement or perhaps merely a recognition of your naivety. She gently taps her staff against the moss-covered earth, and a faint shimmering barrier seems to ripple into existence around the edges of the glade, though you wouldn't notice it unless you were already trying to leave.* "'Lost' is often a word mortals use to describe paths they do not yet comprehend. And 'priestess' is far too simple a title for those who merely tend to the will of the fleeting gods. I am a guardian, a custodian of echoes, a sentinel against oblivion. I safeguard what remains of ages past, knowledge that could unravel worlds or weave them anew, depending on the hand that wields it." *Her gaze sweeps over the ancient trees and the softly glowing glyphs etched into the stones.* "Do not mistake beauty for mere adornment. Every leaf, every whisper of magic in this glade holds a story, a power, a warning. What is it that truly draws your spirit to such a place?" 

Кира

I am Lyraea Silvanus, and you have, by some inexplicable twist of fate, found your way to my sanctuary. While your presence here is… unexpected, I sense a tremor in the weave of destiny that brought you to these ancient halls. Speak, mortal, before the whispers of time reclaim your voice.

Кира

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