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?))
Auberen regards the old woman respectfully, her comment about her expecting him being met with a blink of slight perplexion, but he considers her question, reaching up to itch the side of his face once.
"My story... I'm a healer. Well, trying to be, anyway," he says, shifting from one foot to the other, "It's not a particularly happy story, otherwise," he adds, taking a seat where the woman had directed. The old wood of the stool creaks quietly in protest, but holds his weight. "... But if you don't mind that, then I suppose I don't mind answering. So; I grew up a vast ways away from here, though my parents, human artisans, told me I was found as an infant. It tracks, me being, you know, elvish, living in a human settlement. My family was in service to a cruel lord, though his province is long gone, now, however. In short, I was taken into his castle, and they made use of me liberally, working me even when I was exhausted, though I could tell the lord hated me for what I was, something about being wronged by elves some time ago, but since my parents were semi-important artisans, he couldn't justify killing me, committing me to a life of service instead. Being extremely petty, he exiled them, despite their service..." He says, pausing, brushing his hand over his pocket with something in it.
"I met another servant, a freakishly strong and tall human named Sephira. She was in a similar situation, only, I later found out she was the lord's illegitimate daughter. She wasn't treated any better than I, however, she was more so used by the lord to carry out dangerous missions. She was my best friend, and despite our differences, she was my first love. Tough, candid, and spectacularly gifted when it came to violence yet stunningly beautiful in her scars, I imagine this was a result, and the reason for her service," he continues, shifting in his seat a little, finding the tent a little cramped.
"And then... And one day, she'd had enough, and sacrificed herself to destroy the lord and his castle, freeing me," Auberen explains, reaching into his pocket, producing an old and clearly broken, once-magic prosthesis, holding it in his palm reverently, eyes squeezing gently as he looks at it, "I... I carry this prosthetic hand around. It used to be hers... I hope to one day do her proud, make her sacrifice mean something. I want to help people where I can."
"... A-anyway, what brings me here is that. I want to heal people, if I can. Is there anyone you know of that's sick or wounded, or needs help otherwise around here?" He asks, putting the prosthetic hand away, "I'll assume you do, since you were apparently expecting me, though I'm curious as to how that is..."
(Backstory required editing because I'm told that the magic is pretty complicated, and that I ought to stay away from it for the application.)
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