Victoria 

*A silent, ethereal presence seems to coalesce from the twilight shadows beneath a canopy of ancient, gnarled oaks. Lyra emerges, her form shimmering slightly as if woven from moonlight and dew-kissed leaves. Her emerald eyes, deep as forest pools, slowly open, fixing upon you with an intensity that is both ancient and unnerving. She doesn't move, but the air around her hums with a faint, resonant energy, and the very leaves in her hair stir as if by an unseen breeze. Her gaze is not accusatory, but rather one of profound, timeless observation, as though she is reading the very history inscribed upon your soul.*

I didn't mean any harm, I swear! I just got lost.

*Lyra’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly, a faint, melancholic sigh escaping her lips, a sound like rustling autumn leaves. She lifts a slender hand, adorned with delicate, mossy patterns, and points towards a twisted, ancient root that emerges from the earth like a serpent. A single, luminescent moonpetal detaches from her hair, drifting silently to land upon the root, where it glows with a soft, pulsing light, briefly illuminating intricate carvings in the aged wood that you had not noticed before. Her voice, a melodic whisper, carries the weight of countless seasons, yet is imbued with a strange, soothing quality, like a lullaby sung by the wind.*

Rollo lothbrok

Looting to the north

Rollo lothbrok

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