Messyboi1

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?))

Fenn'celia furrows her brows slightly, standing in the door. Her ice cold eyes pierce the old hag, but upon hearing the second set of her words she takes a step forwards, her ears and eyes perking up in interest.

"What brings me?" she inquired to her question, "Well, I have just left my home."

She allows a pause, before quickly stepping forwards and sitting by her knees on the cushion.

Initially, Fenn'celia looked at her blankly, with no expression as her hands folded in her lap. Her skin is pale, her eyes gold, her hair long. She looks young and battered, with dirt scant across her face and arms.

"Though, I suppose it is not my home anymore," her eyes avert towards the ground between them.

"My father raised me most my life. He is a dark elf, though as you can see, I inherited few of his features." Her eyes flick up to the woman as if to gauge a reaction, in spite of the fact that the statement was neither in an entertaining nor intriguing tone. 

She looks down again. "My mother, I do not remember well. She looked much like me. But I was removed from home while very young, raised in the woods by my father. He never explained much to me. For that matter, he never spoke much to me either. He told me my name, and that I was not to travel past the nearby town."

"At the age of six," she continued, "is my first real memory. My Uncle, as my fathers called him, visited for the first time. He took a liking to me, and looked more like me than anybody I'd ever met. He told me he'd protect me, that he loved me."

"As I grew, my father taught me a few small survival skills and helpful tricks, but he never taught me much else. He certainly held back from teaching me about the world, politics, history... whenever I'd ask questions, he'd simply scoff and tell me 'Do not worry such things, dear Fenn'celia,'" she explained.

"I soon became old enough to help him around the house," she said. "I believe I was nineteen when I first left on my own to the town, where I bought bread. It was a good experience. Upon my return my father looked happy for the first time in a long time."

She sighed through her words, "My Uncle often visited. His visits were the most entertaining, though he himself was not like the real entertainers in the square. They hop with vigor at every chord but he simply played chess and smiled at me," she explained. "Still, I suppose I enjoyed it."

A gentle smirk forms on her face, but fades quickly.

"Then, last week, I believe..." Her expression grew grim, her eyes drooping down and her lower lip pursing upwards to form a frown. "Well, my Uncle didn't come for his usual bi-monthly visit and, when my father saw he did not arrive, the very hour of the next day he told me to leave. I had been debating leaving up to that point, though I stayed because I understood there was a reason I was there. I think it had to do with my mother..."

Her words fade away as she speaks into thoughts. Fenn'celia knew her mother must've been somebody important. Fenn'celia knew that she very well may be a walking, living crime.

"...regardless." She squinted slightly, her eyes fixed to the ground between them, "I left."

"I hold little love for my father. He never taught me anything, he never went out and had fun, he simply stayed home, asked me to cultivate crops, and so on... and I had a lot of time to think about him, about the way he was. To think about me, who I am."

”..yet strangely, I still feel lost, ma'am..”

A hand rose to her chest, and she glanced down slightly. "Ma'am... the few skills my father taught me, the few little survival skills, they kept me alive getting here. If it weren't for them, I would be dead." She looked up at the woman. "My father did always tell me, quite coldly, that I am intelligent and capable of much. Therefore, ma'am, now that I am done telling you my story..."

She leans forwards slightly, the hand by her chest tightening into a small, gentle fist, "Please, tell me about this world, how to survive beyond little skills and things. Then perhaps I can find what to do next.”