Neverwinter Forest bad

She was a strange girl in a stranger place. That she knew nothing of these lands was unnerving. She knew even less about its people. Were there even natives? Bird had smelled plenty of fellow vagabonds, but had never the nerve to approach them; there were individuals not so kind as her own immediate family, and even they were not the warmest. Her mother, Siskin, had been a woman with a harsh tongue; but she was the kindest soul there ever was, next to she herself. In Bluebird, she had instilled a dreamers heart. Siskin had become a realist, but had disabled Bluebird at a very young age from having such a harsh outlook on her surroundings. She had been naive, once; but Bluebird had, in her time alone, dealt with unsavory wolves that would steal, and likely have stolen her had she not been so swift. Having no capabilities in combat meant that her exceptional stealth was her only upper-hand in those sorts of situations. She used it, every time; and oftentimes, the wolves tired of the chase.

Bluebird wandered throughout a Forest. Of all the landscapes there ever were, Forests were what she was most acclimated to. She had grown up in one. Coniferous. Her mother had loved it so, and she had insisted that her own grandmother had loved them, too. In fact, the woman had ruled one for a long, long time. Her name had been Nightingale. Truth be told, Bluebird sought the woman, even knowing she was dead. The silver songbird. She sounded like something of a legend. Legends could not die, could they? They lived on...

And it was with this thought that she paused, cupped ears flattening atop her head as paranoia crept into her heart. Lost, again. A place she had never been. She continued moving, slower now, her chartreuse eyes noting her surroundings so that she would not go in circles and escape this place, comforting though it was.