FrozenGhostling

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?))

The elf, keeping her bunny mask on despite now being inside the tent, slowly sits on the cushion, her expression seems calm under the mask, "When I came here I didn't expect the story I would tell would be my own." she mentions grooming her hair, taking off small twigs that got caught in her messy strands "I usually tell tales of others, nobody ever caring who was the elf singing behind the mask. But I guess it might be time to make an exception" Through the wooden, intricately carved mask, blue eyes shimmered with the orange hue of the burning candles. "I was born from the union of forest and silver, to forever be without a Seed and forever deemed of dirty blood. I didn't have a home, we were always on the road, carried by two trusty steeds in a caravan. Youngest of three I was always left behind, with nothing much left to do." She reaches to her back, hidden behind the light green cloth that lays around her neck there lays a lyre made out of silver and adorned with delicate strings, which she puts on her lap. "But my father gave me a lyre, and my mother gave me fingers. And so I learned to play, to compose, to sing, I became one of Kwakwani's singing birds." She grabs the lyre between her fingers as she talks, rubbing it slowly with care. "Then my family always returned before dusk, bringing dinner to the floor we called a table" A darkness comes to the face hidden behind the bunny, her voice becomes deeper and slower "but a family of helpless critters is always vulnerable to a pack of wolves. So the wolves came, with high burning torches they lighted up our caravan ablaze, and be it by mere luck or an aspect's touch on the strings of fate, that I survived the embers and ran out into the wilderness. Now here I lay, a mask hiding my past, but despite all I still play the lyre my father gifted me with the fingers my mother gave me." She stops talking, leaning back on the cushion scratching her cheek, for a moment her face shows below the wooden mask, the tanned skin filled with old but never-healing scars. As she puts her hand down, the bunny-shaped mask hiding her face completely once again, her lips turning to a satisfied smirk "Has my story been entertaining to you, ma'am? I know it ain't much, so I can still sing about other more interesting tales, be if that's what you desire"