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?))
In the hardened eyes the hag meets, there is only trepidation to aggression heralded in the stare-down this high-elf offers. As if he finds it in distaste how he's told to sit - yet he conforms, sink down to sit on the cushion with his legs crossed in a lotus underneath. Hands curled upon his knees; he remains in that soldier-esque posture without a single sound made. His silence begets observation, the tattered tent is made to bear the harshness of his glare, from the suspended candles scented in the magic that levitates them.
"I hail from the second city of stars and embers." The Celia’norian elf speaks not in common but the archaic elven tongue, uncaring, whether the hag understands him or not -- but his eyes, those vitriolic pools of raw poison eventually drift to pin upon her in kept vigor. Like a serpent staring at prey, mesmerizing in every fold of his regal features stark in contrast to the battle-worn look of everything else he's adorned in. "My family, before their end, were vintners. They made only the best of the best for Fi’andria, my father had the strict sense to serve only nobles." The tight clench of his jaw, for a brief second, leaves it unsaid that that was an unwise decision, in his own consideration, but he doesn't elaborate -- merely looks away to take in the sights further as if to stare down a hag is beneath him and even the decrepit place is more worthy of his sight.
"I've been a mercenary since. There was little point in staying. There is no story to be had, nothing for you to know. I'm only another elf from a well-off family upon some misfortune to you." His hand lifts, to dismiss the notion and further conversation along - waved over his shoulder like a cut and throw gesture of distaste. "I seek to learn magic, that is the story that will be written going forward." Something in his eyes, the putrid, muted look of green turning upon the hag again. A love lost? Of a filial son seeking redemption, to bring back what is gone? Something else, more nefarious, maybe revenge? It is hard to tell in the tumult of his gaze, shredding with ire and baleful glare. "That is why I'm here; show me the way."
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