Hathil

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.”
 

I glance around the room, looking for any other figures hiding in the shadows. None appear, so I hazard another glance at the elderly human before me.  Her appearance is unremarkable, but I can feel the magic radiating off of her from the entrance. I stretch my senses out. Is this a trap? What am I missing? I wonder to myself. Nothing but the feeling of power comes from her, neither good or bad. Just power. I move to sit delicately on the provide cushion.

"Are you a witch? Or one of the Dunedain?" I ask, peering at her face. "Few of the race of Men have such foresight. Or maybe you've just heard of my journeys..."

The woman only shakes her head and laughs. My nose wrinkles as the sound grates on my ears. Few things get underneath my skin, but something about her voice makes me thinks that perhaps I've heard it before...

"I was born to a father of two sons, but I am his oldest child. He never wanted a daughter, only strong sons to pass on his legacy to, so despite my position as eldest he treated my younger brother as his heir. He never called me 'daughter', only ever calling me his child or son, he ignored my mothers wishes to treat me like a daughter. Well, my first brother only lasted so long as father's favorite child. Our  youngest brother became fathers apprentice and most beloved son. We spent most of lives in peace, myself and Russo raised our younger brother with the help of our grandfathers. No, our parents weren't dead, they were just far too focused on their crafts to raise their children past the first two." I paused, looking for any judgement in the crones eyes. Finding none, I made myself more comfortable and continued. "Anyways, our parents sent all of us to the Eternal College as soon as they could. The only ones who studied the same thing were my father and youngest brother. Not even Russo and I shared they same interests. He studied the art of diplomacy, he always was good at making friends... I studied the art of healing, something that I already had a head start on with all those young boys running around the house. I finished my training just a few years ago, a terrible time of my life, but now I'm free from my fathers rule. I'm sure your wondering why I'm not locked away in the College, bound to forever research and document. You see, I found friendship with an outsider, nothing dangerous, just friendship with a scholarly mind. But, my father found out and forbid me to speak to him. I didn't, and now my father doesn't want me back until I admit my actions were wrong. I won't, so now I go about my days healing all those who need it, regardless of race or creed. I believe it's very important to help those who can't help themselves. It reflects poorly on those that refuse to help those they can't gain from..." The longer I talked, the more my frustration and anger bleeds into my words, till I'm just barely under a shout. I steady my emotions, drawing them back into myself. I look to the crone with a grimace, silently asking her to forgive my outburst.