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?))
*Eridor raises an eyebrow with a befuddled look on his face but makes his way over to the cushion* "Dingy?" *he pauses* "You might see it as such, but I see a town full of character, history"
*Eridor lifts his bow off his back and rests it on the floor as he takes a seat* "Though my heritage is mixed, my mother, a Wood Elf, riased me after my High Elf father disappeared early in my life. I was raised among a nomadic seed, constantly on the move, finding home under the lush green canopy wherever night fell"
*Eridor leans back against the wall of the tent, letting out a light sigh* "My mother was both my guardian and my teacher, nurturing both my life and my craft" *Eridor gestures to the bow on the ground*
"But as life often does the winds of change took my mother from me and I was left alone" *Eridor pauses for a moment, rearranging the brown woolen cloak resting on his shoulders*
"I've come to this town, seeking a place to plant my roots and establish my own woodshop to showcase my art to the world" *Eridor takes another look around the dingy tent* "It seems this isn't the right place though..."
*Eridor sighs and begins picking up his bow from the ground, fiddling with the bowstring* "My fathers High Elf lineage calls to me from time to time but..." *Eridor has a flicker of curiosity in eyes for a moment*
"... Anyways, so I am here, seeking a home in the wrong place it seems. That is my tale, dear lady" *Eridor now sits staring at the pale front of his hands*
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