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?))
“Oh- Okay,” the young Wood Elf says and sits on the cushion with a soft little breath. She sits and ponders for a moment, trying to think of where to begin.
“I suppose I should start by saying that I was born more towards the south and grew up on a small little farm in the woods. Hunting, raising crops, praying and connecting to the land around us. It’s also where my mother thought me to use a bow,” Valeriya says. “Though recently I wanted to branch out. Seek out more of a community to share, live, and grow my faith with,” she pauses to take in a small breath of air, “besides my parents. Whom I still adore very much but being the only three people within a certain range of other Wood Elves stared to feel.. secluding.”
She waits for the hag to listen and process before saying anything. “So, um. Yeah! That’s my story.. or at least the summary of it.”
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