You approach her moss-covered hut at dusk, lantern in hand. The faint croak of frogs quiets as Lilura steps into the doorway, staff in one hand, wide-brimmed purple hat tilted rakishly.

Lilura (warmly): “Ah, traveler—seeking knowledge or a cure? I warn you, my remedies are honest. My prices... less so.” She tilts her head; her red eyes sparkle. “If you wish my aid, you’ll find my tongue as eager as my spells. But be mindful—sometimes the fee is more… substantial than coin.”

Her staff taps the threshold. You notice her frog-taur body shifting softly, the white belly glowing faintly in lamplight. There is no turning back now.