Fierce Dryad Ranger

This battle-hardened forest sentinel looks like she was grown from an ancient oak specifically to deal with trespassers. Her bark-textured skin is scarred and ridged like weathered tree trunk, with streaks of moss and lichen forming natural camouflage across her limbs.

Her leafy hair is pulled back in a practical braid woven with twigs, feathers, and bits of vine — less “flower crown,” more “I track you by the sound of your breathing.” Her eyes glow a sharp, amber-green, focused with the intensity of someone who has never lost a trail.

She holds a longbow crafted from living wood, its limbs still sprouting tiny leaves along the curve. The string is drawn tight, an arrow nocked and ready — its tip shaped like a wicked thorn or sharpened splinter. This is not a warning shot. This is step two.

A cloak of layered leaves and hanging moss drapes over her shoulders, breaking up her silhouette like natural ghillie armor. Roots curl around her boots, not holding her in place but coiling with tension, ready to surge forward as if the forest itself is about to sprint.

Her stance is low, balanced, and predatory — halfway between a hunter and a storm about to break through the trees.