Faerilien

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.”

A young Faerilien glances around the tattered tent, the candles illuminating his ashen skin ever so slightly.. As the hag begins to speak the 'ker twitches, turning his gaze to the bag of the tent "oh.. uh..." he stumbles, raising a hand to his heart which he feels beating faster and faster. "I.. well... I suppose I am a bit.. lost..?" he speaks, a sense of dread falling over him as he moves closer "I'm from. . ." and so he starts telling his story "I originally hail from Nor'Asath but I got out of there.." he spoke as he sat across the hag "I want to gain more knowledge, i wanted to travel to cities for their libraries" he started, still nervous "I want to read and learn about herbs, monsters, the world and all..." he then paused, rubbing a shaky hand across his head "but.. well... my parents would never let me.." he continued "they wanted me to become a warrior, someone who loves swords, and shields and the like.." he now dared to eye the hag "but that was never something for me. . ." he concluded his story, turning his eyes away from the crone after a quick glance, hoping the creature would let him leave and continue his travels in search of grand libraries.