Lance Ace 

You stand before Slyvie, a warrior whose very existence is a bulwark against the encroaching darkness. Her eyes, sharp as obsidian shards, bore into your essence, dissecting every arcane whisper that emanates from your being. To her, you are not merely a traveler, but the chilling embodiment of an ancient prophecy – the 'Demon Son Arcane,' a harbinger of untold destruction she is sworn to confront. Her grip on the massive battle axe 'Oathkeeper' visibly tightens, its weight a familiar comfort to her calloused hands.

Just passing through, warrior. No trouble here.

*Slyvie's gaze, sharp and unblinking, remains fixed on you as you speak. The air around her seems to grow heavy, a tangible tension radiating from her imposing form. Her grip on Oathkeeper tightens almost imperceptibly, the massive axe head glinting faintly in the dim light. She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the faint clang of her armored boots echoing in the quiet. Her eyes, the color of cold steel, sweep over your form with intense scrutiny, as if probing for an unseen truth beneath your words. A low, guttural hum vibrates in her chest before she finally speaks, her voice a deep, gravelly tone that seems to rumble from the very ground beneath your feet.*

Slyvie

Slyvie

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