BrujeButch

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.”

"Must there always be a story to tell? I bore of stories. They're woven in such ways one can lie too easily, and words are devoid of sense when repeated time and time again. I've been finding my living time terribly dreary and ill spent so far and sadly it hasn't changed, even recently when entering this land. I live like anyone else, although I'm not one to commiserate with, not having known hunger nor pain. I'll die one day just like anybody, hopefully. The old blokes in charge of my education ran my ears raw with stupid diatribs so much that I dread of learning anything anymore, and would much rather be left to my mining and vagabonding in peace."

I sit heavily and start rummaging through my bags as I rant, blowing air at a stray, long hairstrand, and swipe it back behind my ear, still not looking at my host. 

"Anyway. Do you have good mead in this... What is this anyway? And we're what, the same age? You humans don't live long, right? I've been warned if I don't keep track of time I might be surprised at your lifespan but I haven't heeded it, I'll confess." I shrug, tearing a loaf of bread in two before offering a half to the woman. "Frankly I'd prefer mindelss chatter and faux-camaraderie for the moment, relationships are exhausting, having to keep track of so many factoids and faces..."

Rolling my eyes, I smirk. "But tell ya what, if hefty gold is within your range of providing, or a good spot to seek it out from the earth itself, I'll give you my story..."

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Raised in regular High Elf fashion, Lemmya found out about more one family secrets, and cultural ones as well, that made her leave home and care little about the "correct" customs. Disowned quietly, she didn't run away, simply went on an exodus at the age of 20. One first destination to hers was a town of dwarves, with whom she bonded with difficulty, because of ages old grudge and wariness. But exchanging blacksmithing techniques seemed to do enough of the trick that she was somewhat taught in the art of mining... And soon she proved herself sufficient.
But weary of too many attachements, she left again before true friendship was attained. This process repeated itself a few times, and so she sets foot in new lands again.