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.”
((How do you respond?))
"My story?" Siv's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Well, my dear, I commend your haste to learn of me." He leaned back slightly, resting his head upon one hand as the dim candlelight flickered across his sharp, dusky features. The air smelled of smoke and damp earth, and yet his golden eyes gleamed, calm, confident, almost amused. "I hail from the Northern Region," he began, "A cold and cruel world, where men greet my kind with blade and spite rather than warmth, Being born a Dark Elf has earned me little affection, and much hatred, aye, enough to turn most bitter or broken. But I," he chuckled softly, "I chose another path. My aim is not to beg for acceptance, but carve my name into stone and song. Wealth, power, and a legacy that outlives even the memory of the Highest, that is what I seek."
He paused, his golden gaze meeting the hag's a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Now, tell me, old one... what fortune awaits me in this swamp you call a town."
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