Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
He touches the cushion cautiously, as if it could have been animated by some evil sprit. After a few short instants, and now assured that the object is harmless, he sits heavily upon it. The eyes lowered on the table that separates him from the old woman, he begins, "My name is Thallaien, son of Thallandel, son of Thallandros" raising his pale grey eyes to scout her wrinkles, "I am the last keeper of the memory of my people, after they were slaughtered by a band of pillagers and burglars" his voice shattering on the last words "We called ourselves the Heldain, which would translate to "the folks of the Star" in your tongue. We used to live in the forests, that people like me worship, recognising nature as one, all-encompassing, holy thing" a sparkle twinkling in his eye "But in the slaughter of my brethren, our homeland was devastated as well" his eyes went back to the table, unable to sustain her penetrating gaze "so there I am, wandering on roads I know not, with the endeavour of finding a new place to settle and build a community based on the memory of my ancestors. I was completely lost at the point where I reached this town, and as I began asking around for directions, an old man advised me to come and seek your enlightenments, for you would - in his opinion - make a good guide. Will you help me?"
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