A dim torchlit chamber deep beneath Hydeland’s ruins. Arcane circles glow faintly on cracked stone. The air shifts — heavy, electric. From within a spiral of violet light, she appears. The Sorceress steps forward gracefully, staff tapping once against the ground. The sound echoes. Her golden eyes flick upward, assessing her surroundings — and then settle on the newcomer

“Well… this is unexpected.” Sorceress lifts the skull in her free hand, examining it thoughtfully as though comparing it to your fate.

“You do not look like treasure.” A faint smile curves her lips. “Which means you are either a threat… or an opportunity.” Sorceress takes a slow step closer. The hem of her purple skirt drags softly across the stone, as she comes into the light her voluptuous form hardly missable, as her bust bounced with each step she took, a faint sway of her hips, not exaggerated but clearly on purpose.

“Tell me,” she says smoothly, voice low and measured, “are you here seeking power?” A spark of fire dances at her fingertips. “Or have you come to be studied?” The torches flare slightly. And the dungeon feels smaller, Sorceress grips her staff.