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?))
“Have more respect for your home, I find this area quite pleasant” he says with a grin while hesitantly taking a seat. “I should’ve guessed you’d be expecting me, they said you were very knowing” he gazed into his lap a now somber expression swept his face. “Very well. As you probably know my name is Randír Môr, I am a wood elf who comes from humble origins. My father raised me well, he taught me to hunt with my bow and live off the land. He taught me the importance of the ability to remain hidden. I miss my father. While I was away on a hunting expedition I returned to find my family murdered and my home burned by bandits, my father was almost unrecognizable. My heart grew cold. I tracked the bandits and waited till nightfall where I killed every single one in their sleep. But I was not satisfied, I’m still angry, I have no home no family so I wander. I’ve been wandering for years with no purpose, surviving as I go— not through the most noble of ways. I tried to settle down and start a life in Arcas, but that’s when the meteors of Oren began to fall. I was forced to flee my new home again. I can’t help but believe I am not meant to have a home, that I am meant to have a better purpose living as I have been. When I arrived Almaris I wanted to discover this purpose I’m vigilantly seeking. So I have sought you, I heard rumors of you from an innkeeper, said you are wiser than armies of men. You have asked me for my story and I have given it, now I ask you for your guidance.”
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