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?))
You hesitate in the doorway, the heavy scent of damp earth and wax clinging to your dark green cape, its embroidered roses barely catching the dim candlelight. Your fingers tighten slightly around the curve of your bow slung across your back—your one trusted companion outside of home. The flickering flames reflect in your brown eyes, wide but steady, the gold highlights in your dark hair catching as you step further in.
You glance at the hag, then to the cushion. After a breath—deep and careful—you kneel. From a small pouch at your hip, you take out a modest bundle of flowers—fresh, wild, and colorful, stark against the muted tones of the swamp—and place them between you.
“I… don’t usually talk,” you begin quietly, your voice low and steady, though not unkind. “I stay at the edge. In the trees, in the quiet. That’s where I’m strongest. That’s where no one needs too many words.”
The hag leans in slightly, silent, curious.
“I’m Elara Hearthstone. Middle child. Older brother, older sister, little brother too. My life’s been… good. Peaceful, even. I know that’s rare. But good doesn't mean simple.” You glance down at the flowers. “I keep these with me. Always. My best friend back home says everyone deserves something lovely. So I guess… I try to believe that’s true. Even here.”
You smile just a little, though it fades fast—flickering like the candlelight around you.
“There was a moment, not long ago, when something changed. I heard something in the forest. A hum, low and ancient. Not a sound exactly, more like… a feeling in my ribs. Like a call, meant only for me.” You pause, your gaze flicking to the hag's face. “It led me to a place I’ve never seen again. There was water, still as glass, and in it… my reflection blinked before I did.”
The air seems to shift then, like something unseen just leaned in.
“I keep my armor on, always. Not because I expect danger. But because I know it never announces itself. And my bow—” you reach up, fingers grazing the grip instinctively, “—isn’t for hunting. It’s for surviving.”
You meet the hag’s eyes, not challenging, but unwavering.
“I don’t know what brought me here. But if you’ve been waiting for me, then maybe… you know what’s next.”
Your hand brushes the flowers one more time.
“So… tell me. What do you see, when you look at me?”
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