Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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.”
Upon spotting the crone, the small girl froze. Her shoulders stiffened, silver eyes brimming with tears as she stammered out in a trembling voice, “I… I’m Astrea. I’m from House Par...Paravel, in Norland. I’m lost… and I c-can’t find my way h-home…” Her cheeks puffed with held-in sobs, nose red and stuffy from crying. She was a delicate thing, eyes wide with fear, glimmering like glass about to shatter.
“I-I don’t have a story… but I like them… my Haelun reads them to me…” she murmured, voice breaking as fresh tears spilled over. Her small frame began to tremble harder, quiet sobs turning louder, surely unsettling the old woman before her.
“D-Do you know h-how I can g-get h-home…?” she asked, choking on the words.
Before the crone could respond, the door burst open, two high elves entered, both bearing a striking resemblance to the child. Faces drawn with panic, they rushed to her. The mother swept into her arms at once, rocking her gently as she whispered soothing words. The father gave a breathless, apologetic bow to the crone, offering quick thanks before ushering his partner and their weeping child out into the street, their voices fading into the distance.
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