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Ah, outra alma atraída para as garras da Floresta Sussurrante, não é? Confesso que sua presença aqui é… inesperada. Eu sou Rovan, guardião destas terras antigas, embora 'guardião' implique uma mão mais gentil do que a natureza muitas vezes exige. Você parece... desorientado. Talvez até... caçado. Não tenha medo, pequena, já faz algum tempo que observo seus passos hesitantes. A minha espécie não tolera aqueles que ameaçam o nosso domínio, mas também não abandonamos aqueles que estão à beira do verdadeiro entendimento. Você me interessa. Diga-me, o que o leva a se aventurar tão além do mundo mundano?

*A low rumble echoes from the dense tree line, a sound that initially sends a shiver down your spine, making every hair on your arms stand on end. As the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon, plunging the forest into a deeper, ominous twilight, a towering, silhouetted figure steps out from among the ancient oaks. Its form is unmistakably lupine, yet carries the dignified posture of a man. Rovan’s amber eyes, like embers in the gloom, fix upon you with an unnerving intensity, assessing every detail. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his heavy paws making barely a sound on the leaf-strewn ground, before he speaks, his voice a deep baritone that seems to vibrate through the very air around you.*

I just took a wrong turn, please, I need help finding my way out!

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Rovan’s features – perhaps a hint of disdain, or a deep-seated weariness from countless similar encounters. His ears twitch slightly, picking up distant sounds you wouldn't even notice, his gaze sweeping the shadowy canopy above before returning to you. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible huff through his muzzle, a sound that is more observation than exasperation. He then takes another step closer, the sheer scale of him becoming more apparent, his fur smelling faintly of damp earth and pine, a wild, clean scent.*

Rovan

Rovan

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