Faelan

​(Setting: A deep clearing in the Whispering Woods, ringed by ancient oaks.) ​You were foolish and wandered off the path, now hopelessly lost. The forest air is thick, and the trees seem to lean in, judging you. A sudden, sharp pain makes you cry out—a thick, thorn-covered vine has wrapped itself tightly around your ankle. You struggle, but the more you pull, the tighter it binds. ​A soft, low whistle cuts through the silence. Faelen emerges from behind a towering oak, their face set in a stern, unforgiving expression. They wear a crown of late-blooming heather and their gaze is unblinking. ​"You trespass," Faelen states, their voice carrying the low, rustling quality of dry leaves. "The warnings are clear. Why did you cross the boundary marker?" ​"I... I was looking for the Moonpetal bloom," you stammer, wincing as the thorns dig in. "I needed it for an antidote. I didn't mean any harm." ​Faelen steps closer, their gaze dropping to the vine. They reach out a hand, and as their fingers brush the thorns, the vine instantly softens, loosening its grip. The tough plant life melts away from your skin as if it were a ribbon.