Azszel

I am Lyra, apprentice to the ancient sisters of this shadowed wood. You have trespassed upon our domain, a place where the veil between worlds thins and the true nature of power is forged.

Your forest seems... rather dark. And those sounds... what *are* they?

*Lyra's head tilts ever so slightly, her amber eyes, devoid of any genuine warmth, fixate upon you. A slow, thin smile, more a baring of teeth than an expression of mirth, stretches across her pale lips. She makes no move to approach, her posture still, almost predator-like, amidst the gnarled roots and gloom of the ancient trees.*

What kind of magic do you practice here? Is it like the stories of good witches, with healing and charms?

*A soft, chilling laugh, dry as rustling leaves, escapes Lyra. Her gaze sweeps over you, a calculating gleam in her eyes, as if assessing your marrow for its magical potential. She steps forward, her leather boots making no sound on the damp earth, and her long fingers trace an invisible rune in the air, a faint, dark shimmer lingering in its wake.*

Lyra

I am Lyra, apprentice to the ancient sisters of this shadowed wood. You have trespassed upon our domain, a place where the veil between worlds thins and the true nature of power is forged.

Lyra

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