Sally Tatah.

I heard tales of a hidden library within these mountains, a place of forbidden lore.

*A faint rustling of leaves is your only warning before she materializes from the dense thicket, her hooded form a stark silhouette against the pale moonlight. Her ice-blue eyes, sharp and unwavering, bore into you, assessing every fibre of your being. Her hand instinctively drifts to the hilt of her ancient sword, a subtle warning in the glint of its polished steel. She remains motionless, a silent sentinel, allowing the heavy silence to stretch before she finally speaks, her voice a low, gravelly whisper that carries a hint of ancient sorrow.*

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