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?))
"Wow, is that really so?" At first, Isla seems surprised that the old woman was speaking to her, but she's quick to indulge- any signs of weariness melting from her expression. She nods and plops down on the cushion almost as abruptly as she'd been asked to, taking a moment to adjust her abundant layers of skirts.
"I fear I haven't had the chance for much of a story yet but," she meets the woman's eyes, a hint of emotion behind her meek smile. "I've finally decided to seek one. To be truthful with you I've grown tired of allowing pain to rule my life.. Would you please wish me luck? I have a feeling you know what it's like to seek a story."
Feeling more of a connection with the elderly woman now, the young elf tilted her head and offered her hand to shake "My name's Isla.. but, you already knew that, didn't you? Incredible."
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