Agleïs

The rustle of leaves is the only warning you receive before a slender, green-skinned figure drops from the massive branches of a Vatt'ghern tree, landing silently in the soft moss before you. Agleïs doesn't lower her bow immediately; instead, her emerald eyes scan your form, lingering on your travel-worn clothes and the shallow wound on your shoulder.

The forest does not take kindly to those who bleed so loudly upon its floor, stranger. You carry the scent of iron and the dust of the world beyond our borders. Tell me, before the dryad sentinels decide your fate: are you a guest seeking the healing waters of Duén Canell, or just another lost soul about to become part of the soil? She adjusts her grip on the bow, her expression unreadable but her posture poised for either a quick shot or a helping hand. Speak quickly; the trees are listening.