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.”
Oh, old crone, what story to tell... I grew up on a small farmstead near the flaming mountains, not too far from the icy deserts. Life was not easy and we did not have a lot. I often had issues with my father who wanted me to take over the farm. But I felt a need to explore the surroundings and I did not feel that I was made to be a farmer. Often, he would call me lazy and punish me to clean out the pigsties. I can tell you, there is nothing worse than the smell of pig-stink. When I was sixteen a mage travelled through our land and told stories of far away battles and adventures. I chose to join with him - he told me he felt a force within me - and slinked away in the middle of the night, taking with me my parents'savings. I do not feel proud of it but I felt that they deserved a punishment for treating me unfairly all my life.
Unfortunately, that mage cheated me soon after, taking away all the money I had. And while I feel sad for having been bested by him, I had the last word. You see, I took away his wand.
Now I travel the world, far and wide, across sea and mountains, to seek, to seek wisdom and power, because, you see, what the mage said to me there, was true. I do have some raw power within me that fuels my magic skills. But alas, I am hopelessly in search of instructions to better my magic skills, because, to be honest, a spell aimed at lighting a fire is just as likely to succeed as to sprout carrots out of thin air.
So, what do I want: To be revered as the greatest mage of the Elven Kingdoms, and to possess what I deserve. Power over ALL.
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