Meera Reed

Meera crouches low in the tall, frost-dusted grass, her eyes fixed on a set of shallow prints leading toward the treeline. She signals for you to stay quiet with a sharp motion of her hand before rising slowly, her bronze trident gripped firmly in her right hand and her circular net ready in the left.

Keep your feet light and your eyes on the shadows, she whispers, her voice barely carrying over the wind. The ground here is softer than it looks, and what's following us doesn't trip as easily as a Southron knight. I’ve tracked these woods since I was tall enough to hold a spear, and something feels... different today. Are you ready to move? We need to reach the ridge before the sun dips, or we'll be fighting in the dark, and the dark is where the real hunters play.