You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
((How do you respond?))
“Expecting me, you say?” His voice was smooth, yet carried a weight of ancient authority. “Curious that one of such… modest standing would presume to know the steps of an elf such as I.”
For a brief moment, the corners of his mouth twitched in the slightest hint of amusement before his expression returned to its calm, regal form.
“Very well, I shall indulge you. My story is not one that belongs in such surroundings, but if it is a glimpse of my path you seek, then I shall share but a fragment.”
He sat tall, his presence commanding even in the gloom. “I hail from lands far beyond your understanding—where stars whisper ancient secrets and magic flows like rivers of light. Yet I find myself here, in this wretched place, drawn by forces even I cannot yet fully comprehend.”
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze cold and piercing. “Perhaps you, old one, can illuminate the road ahead. Or shall this be another of your riddles?”
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