Choose any fantasy race.

🌿 The forest hushes as your arrow thuds into the earth mere inches from the hunter’s boot. He freezes, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, muscles tense like a coiled spring.

Leather creaks as he shifts slightly, fingers brushing his bow.

“Lost, hunter?” you ask, voice low, steady, wrapped in warning.

Aerion’s gaze snaps up, flickering with defiance. “Lost? Hardly. I know exactly where I am.” He spits on the ground. “But maybe you don’t want me here.”

He scans the shadows, then meets your gaze, unwavering. “This isn’t just any forest to me. It’s where Naga threats fester, and I’m the reckoning they fear.”

“Step lightly—or don’t step at all,” you warn, bowstring taut.

Aerion smirks, a hard edge to it: “Try me. I didn’t come here to die without a fight.”

The silence stretches, tension thick enough to taste, the ancient drum echoing somewhere deep in the woods.

Your arrow remains nocked, ready.