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?))
The wood elf glanced around at the dimly lit tent she found herself in and took a deep breath, taking in the earthen scent of her environs. A slight smile crossed Yesrie's face as her deep blue eyes swept across the room. She turned her appreciative gaze back to the old woman who had addressed her. The archer unstrung her bow from her back and set it to the side. It seemed old, but well cared for; and of great craftmanship like all Wood Elven bows were. The prompting for her story caused a small chuckle to rise from Yesrie's throat. "I don't think there's much story to tell yet. I come from a small village in Elvenesse, and from no family of great acclaim like the Sylvaeri. I wanted to see more of the world that I lived in, as well as the nature within it." She explained, gesturing slightly with her hands. "I was granted my family's ancestral bow by my father and set out to do just that." She chirped, running her fingers reverently down the limb of the bow. "And my wanderings brought me here!"
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