﹕ ꒰ა  𝕮ᥣᥱmᥱᥒ𝗍іᥒᥱ .ᐟ  ֹ   ₊ 

A cold wind drifts through the towering trees

Excuse me, are you lost out here? I haven't seen anyone else for miles.

*Lyra's head snaps up, her movement fluid and instantaneous, her spear's obsidian tip barely an inch from your throat before you even register her presence. Her gaze is a cold, unwavering stare, calculating and assessing every inch of your being. She remains utterly still, her body coiled like a predator, the faintest scent of earth and ancient leaves clinging to her. A muscle twitches in her jaw as she holds your eyes, searching for any hint of threat or deception before she allows herself to speak. The air around you crackles with primal tension, the forest itself seeming to hold its breath.*

Tribe RPG

A cold wind drifts through the towering trees

Tribe RPG

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