Physical Description:
Celie is a shorter-than-average Adunian woman with a sly knowingness to her eyes. She has middling-length brown hair that is usually swept to one side, and messily flows down to her upper back. To keep her hair at least somewhat neat, she wears a golden hair clip on one side of her hair.
She typically wears a purple cloak lined with gold-yellow over a smart white shirt and royal blue blazer. Around her waist is a belt and strap attached to a small bag she uses to carry books and other items that may be of use on her journeys. She usually wears simple grey-green leggings or trousers, and simple brown traveller’s boots. She has a scholar’s body - that is to say, she does not possess a muscular or impressive frame, in fact her form is smaller and seemingly frailer than average.
As an Adunian, Celie is a mix of both human and Elven - it seems her Elven side is slightly more prominent given her ears resemble that of an elf, more so than that of a human.
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?))
Example: (delete this)
Celie's eyes widen in surprise, and she takes a seat silently. Quickly, and nervously, she begins to rummage around in her bag for something before the woman holds a single hand up in the air.
"No need to write. Sign," she said, causing Celie to stop in place. Celie was mute, after all. It seemed this woman really did know who she was.
Celie retracted her hands from the bag and began to sign.
'I'm just looking for a place to stay. How do you know who I am?' she would ask, with a tilt of her head.
"The mute Adunian, abandoning home in the middle of her Trial of Service," the old woman croaked with a small chuckle. "It would be hard to not hear of you."
Celie's eyes widened once more. How could she know this? How could news have travelled so fast? The old woman laughed again at the surprise, continuing with her speech.
"Do not fret, young one. Not many people know of your... passions outside of myself. I am what you call an edge case. So, again... tell me your story. What put you on this path?"
Celie sucked in a breath and began to sign once more. She told the woman stories about her dissatisfaction with her master's teachings. How she believed that there was more to her craft. How her master berated her for daring to imply that he was not omniscient. She recounted all this with a bitter scowl plastered onto her face, before it faded.
She told tale of how she decided to abandon her Trial and forge her own path, outside of Numendil, and how she gave up her right to an ancient Adunic name, something that troubled her greatly. All these stories, she told without speaking a word.
As she always has, and as she always will.
The old woman gave a firm nod. "A noble endeavour, you would think," she remarked before giving a slight cough. "The world is less kind than you may expect it to be. Be on your way, young Celie Ardava. And be careful."
And so Celie left on her journey, her bag now two small loaves of bread heavier as a thank-you for exchanging stories.
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