Saranghai

Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))

Minlerva hesitates a moment, before complying. A small cloud of dust is sent flying as she sits, but she shifts nervously, not paying it any mind. "It's... complicated. I appreciate you having me. Shelter has been hard to find, so far from my forest and having brought so little."
The hag gives her an appraising look. It's true, her dress bears streaks of dirt and grass, and her boots show similar wear. She pauses on the gold adornments, bright in the dim light. "And what of your clothing? A trader  would hardly turn you away with gold like that."
"I couldn't." Minlerva pulls back, a protective arm coming up to cover the gilded links on her dress. "This is the ceremonial garb of my people. My father gifted me these, on my 18th birthday. I will never part with them."

"Your father? Is that why you're here?"
"I guess he is part of the reason." Minlerva shifts for a moment, looking for the right words. She thumbs the fabric between her calloused fingers. "My father is a Mali’ame - a wood elf. I say I'm the same, but you can tell that I'm not. It's my eyes, my skin, that don't fit right. I think, my whole life, I've never fit quite right."
Her words feel heavy in the tent. Overhead, the candles flicker softly, comforting. It's almost alarming how quickly she feels able to open up to the old hag.
Minlerva continues, "That's why I've always wanted to meet my mother. But the Mali’aheral are hardly welcoming, even to someone who is half high elf. And my father never spoke on the matter. The forest is our home, he'd say. Things were good, back at home, apart from that. Until I told him I was leaving. For... I don't know how long. He didn't quite agree with me on that matter."
The hag, old and wizened with age, extends a wrinkled hand to gently hold Minlerva's.
"After twenty four years of trying to be satisfied just being me, I just had enough, you know? It's hard pretending not to notice when nobody meets my eyes, or comes to talk to me first." Minlerva's voice shakes a little. "That's why I want to at least meet my mother once. Ask her why she left, why she- why she had me in the first place. So I'm out here to find her."
The hag lets the words sink in. Minlerva feels a little lighter, somehow, despite nothing really changing. "I don't have any names, any details, any clue on where to start. Just her eyes and her skin."
The tent sways in the wind, the flaps swinging, clearing the scent of mildew for a moment. Minlerva lifts her eyes, meeting the hag's gaze for the first time. "Will you help me?"