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?))
The elven man grimaces at the sight of the poorly woman and the dingy town. He acknowledges her gesture, actively ignoring it as he continues to stand. "I expected something a tad more... grand, when you summoned me here," Leyu murmured before taking a hesitant step closer to the crone. He grit his teeth as he stared into her wrinkled and decrepit face. "I am Leyu Divhileia. I, a mali'aheral, will not explain myself to the likes of you."
Moments passed by then. It only took a mere few moments for the egotistical High Elf to give into talking about himself. "My name means 'Beauty, you know? Beauty without Peace, yes, but mostly beauty! It's- It's what I named myself upon landing on this continent. I just... needed a fresh start. To be a new person, I suppose."
Another pause. The elf stared idly, expecting some sort of response from the stranger. When he was not given one, he opted into filling the silence himself. "My parents praised me a lot as a youth. My beauty. My brains. My confidence. Very few people outside of the family could handle me. They were all I needed. They were everything I had... That was, until my father passed. Mother could hardly handle it. The grief took her not too long after. I suppose the grief is steadily consuming me too..."
He stared down into his palms as tears threatened to escape. Rather than process this pain, he dug his fingernails into his palms. He forced away the mental pain with physical until his hands began to bleed.
"Enough idle chit-chat. I am a very busy man."

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