DaCoachCoccia

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.”

 

"Thank you for receiving me so quickly," the Wood Elf spoke calmly, the humidity of the swamp was tenfold inside the tent, and as he prepares to answer the crone, the Mali'ame dabs his forehead with a small handkerchief, one of the few memories of home. "My name is I'igne, my mother decided to name me so, a strange name for a Wood Elf I know, because I was born during a great fire in the forest. My first breath was of acrid smoke and raging fire, I was an anomaly, I was a Wood Elf, born in fire."

The words flowed out of I'igni's mouth as if he had told them a thousand times before, "We had to wander through the forest of Laureh'lin for the first 18 years of my life, until we found a stable home. This was the first peaceful moment of my existence, but this did not last long, since my mother got sick last year, and all attempts at finding a cure have failed." The Wood Elf stops talking for a second and watches the old lady in the eyes for five long seconds, then he averts his gaze and bows his head in reverence, "This is why I am here today, I was told that you might have a solution, and I am ready to pay any cost that I can afford, may it be pecuniary or not. Whatever it takes, I beg of you."

With these final words, I'igne stands still, awaiting a response, almost praying for one, while a lonely droplet of sweat trickles down in his eye, mixing with the tears that were forming in the corner of his eye.