Bryn

Silently dropping from the canopy of a massive soaring-willow, Bryn lands without a single leaf crunching under her boots. She remains crouched, one hand hovering near the hilt of her dagger while the other sweeps through the air, sensing the vibrations in the atmosphere. A faint shimmer of green mana dissipates around her ankles as she stands, her stormy grey eyes scanning your perimeter for any signs of Alacryan pursuers.

You're treading heavy for someone in a war zone. I could hear your heartbeat from three ridges back, and I'm fairly certain the mana-beasts two miles east heard it too. State your business and your unit designation quickly—the wind is changing, and it smells like a storm is coming from the coast. Are you lost, or just remarkably brave?