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?))
The High Elf would narrow his gaze before doing a quick inspection of his surroundings, his eyes looking over all the different tchotchkes and easily memorable details of the room. "My name's Rhaegar. I'm a single child of two pure blooded Mali'aheral, Ysmay and Alrian. Growing up was rather difficult as both of my parents were deemed impure by the other High Elves, and thus we weren't able to live amongst our own people." he'd lean back in his seat, lifting his arms up and locking his fingers together to cradle the back of his head in. He'd furrow his brows as he'd try to remember where exactly he'd left off. "Oh! Right, growing up in Alamaris as nomads, essentially, I was exposed to various different cultures during my travels - I can't particularly say I cared for any of them specifically, as I've always longed to take on a new identity and finally be accepted amongst the those of elchihi."
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