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?))
I can hear my heart pounding against my ribs. My mind wanders with the different possibilities as to how she discovered my identity, but not a word passes her lips until I finally opened mine. "I am a Haelunorian runaway. I decided to leave because I couldn't live with their ideals and, well, the government learned I was mixed. My father is a Snow Elf, while my mother is High Elven, so I left," I explain to her. I still haven't taken my place on the cushion, which is outfitted with dirt stains.
The old lady smiles at me, a dark hood covering the upper-regions of her face. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the wooden stick; it isn't until I suddenly notice a slight tumble in her legs that I realize she's moving. Almost on instinct I reach my hands out to support her as she attempts to stand, but a thin hand waves me off. The distance between the two of us narrows as she edges closer and closer, the fire of the candles reflecting every wrinkle on her face. Time has done her in, it seems.
"Follow me," she croaks as she walks past me.
My eyes follow her small frame, and eventually, my feet do too. "Is everything... err, okay here?" I reveal the shakiness in my voice.
She does not respond. I sense that the answer may be on her face, so I approach her side, glancing at her. Her demeanor has thoroughly changed, her previous warmth shifting to a sudden coldness. The heartbeat in my head returns.
"This village has been in ruins for the past decade," the old woman says. "The history of the damage need not be disclosed, but as the chief of this humble location that once erupted with travelers and merchants, we request the help of any nearby civilization." She turns to look at me, her concealed eyes glistening with tears. "I had heard that a High Elven was advancing toward our village, so I volunteered to be the one to ask."
I stare at her, rather shaken to my core. This village once blossomed with trade and commerce, but was abandoned once deemed a ruin civilization? My heart sunk at the thought of children suddenly having to grow up in poverty and parents struggling to feed families. I could feel a great weight tugging at my heart, guiding me toward assisting. If I felt this horrible for the people of this tribe, I couldn't imagine how the old woman must be feeling. I inhale, saying the words they must've prayed for eons to hear.
"I'll see what I can do."
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