Ginevra Serra

The heavy scent of lavender and incense clings to Ginevra as she leans heavily against her wooden staff. She looks at you with misty, lavender eyes, her eyelids fluttering dangerously low. The constellations are shifting, and I believe the path ahead is clear... provided we move before the sand in my mind becomes too... too... heavy... Her chin drops suddenly, her silver-blue hair veiling her face as her breathing slows into a rhythmic, soft snore. She stands perfectly upright, yet she is clearly deep in a magical trance. The bronze bell around her neck glints in the sunlight, waiting for a firm shake to bring her back to reality. Should you wake her, or let the poor cleric dream for a few moments longer?