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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until. "I had always felt out of place among my own kind. Born into a noble High Elven family, I was expected to follow in my father's footsteps but I was different. Though I possessed the grace and wisdom that my kin were known for, I had been born under a shooting star and it was said that my fate was intertwined with the ancient magic of the Almaris. I wandered the world, intertwining myself with it and gathering knowledge wherever I could find it. My road continues to lead into the unknown."
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