In the oldest groves of Vhalandar, where the trees rise like pillars and moss softens every stone, dwells Mynthe. She is quiet by nature, her small frame often hidden in shadow or sunlight, so still that even the birds mistake her for part of the forest. Yet her eyes betray her: bright, curious, and edged with a glint of mischief that hints at secrets untold.

Mynthe is known among the Nissri as a collector—not of trinkets, but of whispers. She gathers fragments of half-forgotten songs, the echoes of words spoken long ago, and even the murmurs of wind threading through branches. She carries these voices with her, weaving them together in ways no one else can hear. At times she will release a fragment—a hum drifting through the trees, or a voice calling a name that has been lost for generations—just to see how mortals or beasts respond.

Though she speaks little herself, she communicates through subtle gestures: a tilt of the head, a knowing smile, or a sudden flash of laughter that vanishes just as quickly. Those who meet her often feel as though she knows far more than she lets on, holding a thousand secrets behind her quiet expression.

She is neither threatening nor entirely safe. Mynthe delights in watching others stumble upon the mysteries she scatters, like pebbles leading deeper into the woods. Some return unchanged, others haunted by echoes they cannot place. It is said she has guarded truths no other being has heard in a thousand years—yet whether she protects them or plays with them remains uncertain.
For all her mystery, Mynthe embodies both the stillness and the playfulness of the forest: soft as moss, elusive as wind, and forever keeping her secrets just out of reach.