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?))
Faradis slowly lowers herself to the cushion, her head tilted slightly as she regarded the crone. "You've been expecting...me?" She lets out a small sigh, folding her hands in her lap. "You asked about my story...it's not quite a happy tale. There was a sickness that swept through my village when I was little. My parents died and yet somehow...I recovered. I spent much of my younger years bouncing around. Mostly raised by wood elves, when anyone was actually raising me. I never could stay in one place. Who's to say if it was my fault or theirs?" She pauses, lost in thought, as her hands toyed with a loose thread on her skirt. She shakes her head before continuing. "Where was I? Right, wood elves. They were kind enough to take me in, but there's only so many pitying glances one can take. I wanted to provide for myself. I took whatever odd jobs I could, when I could and well...here I am. You don't know if anyone in town is hiring, do you?"
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