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?))
The Adunian said with confidence, "I come from a land far away." said the part-elf. "My name is Ualiar Trisphine, and I am young, as I just turned 18 human years." the half-elf explained. "I came to this... nice town to find people." said the Adunian. "You see, when I was a boy, I had only one friend, and he died at the age of sixteen because of those stupid Mali’Dun." Said the part-elf in scorn. "While they were raiding my town, my friend tried to stop them. But the Mali'Dun just ruthlessly kept stabbing the poor kid." The part-elf had a sad look in his eyes. "So, I decided to not make friends at all. The part-elf had a stony look in his eyes now. "How did you even know I was coming to this town anyway?" the Adunian questioned the hag. The crone changed the subject, now staring at her hands. 'That is a question for another time, half-elf." The tempature in the tent feels like it dropped 20 degrees. "Well," said Ualiar, "I'll just continue on my journey from now on." "Pleasure meeting you!" and the half-elf promptly left the tent.
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