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?))
Peering down toward her, Feta'iheiuh sits gingerly on the couch, fiddling with her fingers as she takes in the warm air around her. Watching the fire dance around on the candles - how had the tent not caught it yet? And, furthermore, how were the candles suspended? - her amber eyes flicking back and forth, she hums. Not once does she question exactly why this old crone would be aware of her; it seemed right.
"Funny you know me. I hardly know myself, I guess. Wasn't raised right; at least, that's what other elves say. No roots, No Seed I know of... abandoned, I guess. How fun is that! From Amaethea, left in the streets as a kid to fend for myself, with the moss to keep me company and the forest just outside, I hunted for myself and eventually sold enough game to earn myself a little shack to reside. Now all I've got to do is get rid of the little ghosts!" A laugh, as she turns her head toward nothing, before looking back to the old woman.
"Nothing special about me, ma'am. Just trying to get by!" A little forced smile, before she gives a small curtsy toward the hag, and scutters away into the night once more.
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