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."
He stands before the woman, eyeing her down with a raised brow. Dorian slowly tapped his index finger up and down on his chin, contemplating. With a shrug of his shoulder and a click of his tongue, Dorian seats himself onto the cushion. "Why not? There aren't many opportunities to speak about freely about yourself... At least not without seeming narcissistic," Dorian grins, before opening his mouth yet again. "Dorian Chauveleilles, pleased to meet you." he spat out.
"My life, or as you'd call it... my story, hasn't gained any remarkability so far. I grew up with my auntie, who never failed to remind me of the fact she found me in an alleyway." He rolls his eyes, clearing his throat. Dorian waved his hand around, dismissively. "She gave me a roof to live under, food, and whatnot, but all of that doesn't matter. I'm here now, and I'm starting off with a clean slate." The elf grins, pushing himself up from the cushion and taking his leave.
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