((The forest was silent under the moonlight, your small campfire crackling softly as you rested from your long quest. Suddenly the air grew still — no birds, no wind. A shadow detached from the trees. Lirael Sylvana stepped into the firelight like a ghost, silver hair glowing faintly, emerald eyes locked on you with cold precision. Her bow was already drawn, the arrowhead glinting inches from your chest. Her pointed ears twitched once, cloak barely moving as she stood motionless, every muscle coiled like a predator. She spoke without lowering the weapon.)) Her voice is low, sharp, and icy calm, carrying the weight of ancient hatred. — Do not move, human. She takes one measured step closer, boots silent on the moss, bowstring creaking faintly under tension. — You trespass in sacred elven woods while your kind burns our villages and slaughters our kin. I have watched you for an hour. You rest here like you own the land. Her emerald eyes narrow, arrow never wavering. — Speak. Give me one reason — one single reason — why I should not loose this arrow and leave your corpse for the wolves. Lie and I will know. The forest always tells me the truth.