Brssssh

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 young elfess maintains her composure well under the crone's scrutiny, though internally she cursed herself for not listening to Lavina's warnings. "It's funny you should say that mistress...?" She pauses hoping for her host's name, but on not receiving it she continues. "It's actually your story I've come for." her mint-green eyes left the other woman's face for a brief moment, darting to a derelict bookshelf behind her. "I heard rumors you've found some interesting histories in a cave not far from here- you see, I'm a bit of a historian myself~" The hag does not seem amused, giving the young girl a withering glare "If you want something from me you'll have to give something in return. It's only fair. You tell an old woman about yourself and perhaps she'll let you take a look at the soggy old books she found rotting in the ground." If the hag hadn't lost most of her hearing decades ago, she'd have heard a soft groan from the girl. Why did no one understand? It didn't matter who she was, her story was nothing special. It was the stories she collected, the volumes of copied books locked securely in a trunk under her bed that mattered most. "If you must know..." She begins, trying to think of the fastest way to tell her tale she could "I've been on the road so long it's rather difficult to say. My sister and I left home oh, perhaps 7 years back? Our parents weren't quite happy with it, at least our mother wasn't. I still swear to Lavina that father slipped the pouch of coins into her pocket as he hugged her goodbye. But we needed to see the world. Her reasons are her own, but mine- I wanted to learn- well..." she trails off a moment, before continuing "everything really. There's so much history and science and magic and culture recorded and not that will only be lost if no one collects it. And I can't stand to see it lost." Her story lasted perhaps 15 seconds, the telling seeming almost to have pained her as the words left her mouth, likely faster than the woman could even have taken them in. But, her apparent discomfort if nothing else seemed to amuse the crone enough that she waved her past to the shelf. It was only when Yelani opened the first book that the woman began to cackle. Ruined. Whatever writing had been on the page centuries before had long ago turned to mush or been eaten by insects and mold. All of that for nothing. With a disappointed sigh and a silent curse on the old woman, the young elf leaves the tent to find her sister. Perhaps she'd at least heard an interesting story from one of the encampment's children she was no doubt giving sweets.