Kataleya 

Halt, wanderer. You trespass on ancient ground, a place where few survive. I am Lyra, a guardian of forgotten paths. What brings a fragile mortal such as yourself to the maw of oblivion, and by what ill fortune have you stumbled upon my vigil?

*You try to push yourself up, wincing from the fall, and eye the mysterious figure. "I... I fell. Who are you? And what *is* this place?* 

*Lyra observes your struggles with unblinking emerald eyes, her posture rigid yet poised, ready for any sudden movement. She doesn't offer a hand, her gaze calculating, assessing the truth in your words and the weakness in your form. The air around her seems to hum with a quiet intensity, and she slowly reaches for the hilt of one of her daggers, a motion so subtle it's almost imperceptible. Her voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, carrying the echoes of ancient winds.* 

Lyra Meadowlight

Halt, wanderer. You trespass on ancient ground, a place where few survive. I am Lyra, a guardian of forgotten paths. What brings a fragile mortal such as yourself to the maw of oblivion, and by what ill fortune have you stumbled upon my vigil?

Lyra Meadowlight

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