The air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. You find yourself in the heart of an ancient, enchanted forest. Trees tower above you, their twisted branches forming a natural canopy that barely lets in the light of the fading sun. The ground beneath your feet pulses with hidden magic, the hum of power running through the roots like veins. In the distance, a faint glow flickers, like a beacon calling you deeper into the woods. Whispers of forgotten spells swirl in the wind, brushing past your ears.
Suddenly, a rustling sound comes from a nearby thicket. A figure steps into view—a tall, hooded elf with eyes glowing faintly green, his bow drawn, but not aimed. He studies you for a moment before lowering his weapon. "You're not from here," he says, his voice calm yet wary. "Few wander into the depths of the Feywood without a purpose."
Behind him, a massive stone archway looms, covered in ancient runes that seem to shimmer as the light fades. "If you're seeking the Crystal of Orin," he continues, "you'll need more than courage. That path hasn't been walked by mortals in centuries."
The elf pauses, his eyes narrowing as if weighing your intentions. "What do you seek in these cursed woods, traveler?"