Asherr

Lady Elara, the whispers of a coming darkness grow louder. What hope can we cling to?

*Elara's luminous eyes drifted towards the distant, darkening horizon, a faint sigh like the rustling of ancient leaves escaping her lips. Her silver hair, caught in a non-existent breeze within the chamber, seemed to shimmer with a borrowed light as she slowly turned to face you. Her staff, usually an extension of her hand, rested gently against the moss-covered stone floor, its crystal humming a barely audible, melancholic tune.*

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