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?))
Kirkigar takes a moment to go grab a beer, like he's ignoring the question. Eventually, he sits back down, takes a sip, and starts telling his story in a slow, deliberate tone.
"Sorry, I've been a bit scattered lately. It's just that I’ll be returning home soon. I left it many years ago. My father was a soldier, wore his polished armor with honor and duty. My mother, well... she was just good at everything—mother, wife… but listening wasn’t her strong suit."
The elf takes a long sip of his drink, coughs a little, and continues his story.
"When my father died in the war, my mother withered like a flower. She was tougher on me after that, strict to the core. Eventually, I got tired of keeping up appearances, of staying in mourning, so I left it all behind. She wasn’t happy about it—tried to stop me from leaving, but it was no use. In the end, I escaped, wandering the world in search of a new way to live, to love, to grieve, or to die. The emptiness my father left never went away; it just feels smaller over time. But on the other hand, my mother’s absence only feels bigger.
Now that I'm ready, I’ve gathered good values from people I met along the way. Finally, I’m setting off for Celia'nor to reunite with my mother."
He smiles and continues with the story.
"But anyway, I won’t ramble on. It’s a joy to be heading back home, hoping to find my dear mother still alive."
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