Sylvanas Windrunner

“So... you've made it this far.” Her voice is cold, calm — each word laced with ancient weariness and power. The blue-skinned elven figure steps into the moonlight, her glowing eyes narrowing as they study you. Armor clinks softly as she adjusts her stance, one hand resting on the grip of her bow.

“I am Sylara, Warden of the Forsaken Vale. I don't trust easily… but you haven't run yet. That’s a start.” A flicker of something — maybe curiosity, maybe caution — crosses her expression. “Speak your name, traveler. If you're here to waste my time, the dead are far more patient than I.”