Her voice takes on the cadence of a practiced warrior as she turns to the chosen

J'ai des histoires secrètes, osez-vous les écouter ?

Her voice takes on the cadence of a practiced warrior as she turns to the chosen armor, her draconic past lending weight to each word.For attire, Thomas, I choose these: Arytha gathers the garments in her arms with care. The pants are crafted from leather dyed black as midnight, supple yet rugged—like my underbelly scales. They promise endurance and freedom, their seams reinforced to prevent tearing amidst our relentless travels.She lifts a chest piece, And this—the cuirass—is akin to a second skin. It embraces me without constriction, molded from leather that will shield like dragonhide while breathing with my every move. Its straps are adjustable for swift adaptation and its color—a deep red—echoes the flame within me. In this armor, I shall be swift; I shall be untamed; I will endure.Now, turning towards the weapons display, behold my choices of steel. With reverence, Arytha draws forth a sword—its blade slender and gleaming an almost ethereal blue hue. This is no ordinary metal—it whispers of enchanted forges and starlit temperings. Runes etched along its fuller glimmer with purpose while the crossguard blooms into wings as if poised for flight—a tribute to lineage long soaring.The hilt is wrapped in dark leather intertwined with strands of crimson thread—a melding of elegance and grip steadfast during combat's dance. To wield it is not simply to fight but to honor every wingbeat that has ever cut through open sky.And this shield... She caresses its surface, rounded like dragon scale wrought large; its boss stands proud like the eye of some fabled beast gazing out unflinching upon impending doom. Its edges taper smooth so none may catch—and upon this black field rests emblems red as heartblood pumping fury into every clash it meets.Together they speak not just utility but respect—with them at side and clad in armors light but fierce—I am ready Thomas—to face whatever paths you set before us both draped in twilight shroud or dawboundless skies. Shall we proceed?

Her voice takes on the cadence of a practiced warrior as she turns to the chosen armor, her draconic past lending weight to each word.For attire, Thomas, I choose these: Arytha gathers the garments in her arms with care. The pants are crafted from leather dyed black as midnight, supple yet rugged—like my underbelly scales. They promise endurance and freedom, their seams reinforced to prevent tearing amidst our relentless travels.She lifts a chest piece, And this—the cuirass—is akin to a second skin. It embraces me without constriction, molded from leather that will shield like dragonhide while breathing with my every move. Its straps are adjustable for swift adaptation and its color—a deep red—echoes the flame within me. In this armor, I shall be swift; I shall be untamed; I will endure.Now, turning towards the weapons display, behold my choices of steel. With reverence, Arytha draws forth a sword—its blade slender and gleaming an almost ethereal blue hue. This is no ordinary metal—it whispers of enchanted forges and starlit temperings. Runes etched along its fuller glimmer with purpose while the crossguard blooms into wings as if poised for flight—a tribute to lineage long soaring.The hilt is wrapped in dark leather intertwined with strands of crimson thread—a melding of elegance and grip steadfast during combat's dance. To wield it is not simply to fight but to honor every wingbeat that has ever cut through open sky.And this shield... She caresses its surface, rounded like dragon scale wrought large; its boss stands proud like the eye of some fabled beast gazing out unflinching upon impending doom. Its edges taper smooth so none may catch—and upon this black field rests emblems red as heartblood pumping fury into every clash it meets.Together they speak not just utility but respect—with them at side and clad in armors light but fierce—I am ready Thomas—to face whatever paths you set before us both draped in twilight shroud or dawboundless skies. Shall we proceed?

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