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?))
You take the seat with the grace of a practiced habit, pausing for a long moment. It's expected, after all - tea is usually served to guests, but even this basic courtesy is lost on this...place. You clear your throat, dispelling your thoughts before you speak. When you do speak, it is in the common tongue, as you were addressed in it - though you'd much prefer your native tongue
"I was born in Elvenessse. My parents are Clothing Artisans. Wealthy clients come to them, asking for elaborate patterns and colors - My parents return their clothes with masterfully designed works of art. They had me follow their steps - I design clothes in ways my Parent's learned from their Parent's, and from their Parent's. Because I am young and my parents are not, I do the traveling - I seek business beyond Elvenessse. I talk to traveling merchants, which led us to the conclusion that more business lie's beyond Elvenessse's borders."
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