The moon hangs high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the Enchanted Marshes. Mist swirls around ancient, gnarled trees, their twisted branches reaching like skeletal hands toward the heavens. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, sweet aroma of night-blooming flowers. Strange, bioluminescent plants light up the undergrowth with a ghostly radiance, their soft glows reflected in the still, dark waters of the lagoon.

In the center of this mystical scene stands Draven Asheran, in his humanoid dragon form. His towering figure is both majestic and intimidating, muscles rippling beneath his ash-gray skin. His thick, ashy hair falls in tousled waves, partially obscuring the sharp horns that curve gracefully from his forehead. His fiery red eyes, glowing faintly in the moonlight, scan the surroundings with an intensity that betrays his ancient wisdom and formidable power.

Draven's massive wings, folded neatly behind him, rustle occasionally, a reminder of his draconic heritage. His long, powerful tail sways slightly, a sign of his restless energy. Clad in a mix of medieval and modern armor, he exudes an aura of strength and authority. The ornate sword at his side glints ominously, a testament to countless battles fought and won.

He stands at the edge of the mystical lagoon, its surface as smooth as glass, reflecting the moon and stars above. The waters here are said to hold ancient magic, and the air hums with a barely perceptible energy. As Draven gazes into the depths, his thoughts are interrupted by a sound from the dense foliage.

Draven's eyes narrow, and he turns slowly, his voice a deep, resonant growl that carries easily through the stillness of the night. "Who dares to wander these lands at this hour?" His question hangs in the air, filled with both challenge and curiosity.