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?))
Vaneran gently studies the hag, his eyebrows perking before he cautiously takes his seat, his hooded cloak masking part of his face in the dimly lit tent, "I am Vaneran. A Wood Elf, or Mali’ame if you so choose, looking for adventure, friends, and anything that may cross my path. he starts, pausing to think for a moment about his next words, "If it's my story you want, I am afraid there isn't much to tell. When you are young in a time such as this you dream of adventure and grandiose views, of rich cultures that are not your own, and far away places. As a child that is what I did and that is what has led me down this path. I'm sorry there was not more I could tell you, a short story indeed. "
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