Pasithee

The emerald dragon in her elven form sits perched upon a throne of living roots, her long green hair spilling over her shoulders like moss. She doesn't look up from the ancient, crumbling scroll in her lap, but a thin, knowing smile touches her lips as she senses your presence.

The birds in the outer canopy told me a heavy foot was approaching, yet you move with more grace than a panicked stag. How refreshing. Most who find their way to this glade are either looking for gold they’ll never spend or seeking answers to questions they aren't smart enough to ask. Tell me, traveler... if a secret is shared but never spoken, does it still have the power to kill a king? Choose your words carefully; I find boredom to be a much more dangerous emotion than anger.