Customable

The town was dimly lit, a light in sight was hidden by the hideous shacks and cabins that caved me into the streets and the smell of rotting wood and wet moss lingered, a deathly scent to anyone unused to the lower regions of the world, I could feel the wounds across my body; it was debilitating and humiliating to have lost so much and not remember how. My weapon was in terrible condition, once a decently crafted and designed bow, reduced to cut strings and charred elm wood.

Something caught my attention in the corner of my vision, it was well-lit, just as rickety as the rest of the town but visibly different; a small threadbare tent barely stood above the supports it was held by, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air by magic. The sight was oddly inviting, and I found myself drawing closer to its opening in my injured condition. Anything was better than passing out among these filthy streets, and I was more than willing to take whatever risk came to survive.

The tent opened up to a subtle, comforting warmth, the candles seemed to do more than light the surroundings, albeit uncomfortably close to the tent's worn coverings.

"It's rude to invite yourself into an elderly woman's living." a hag from inside the tent erupted rather harshly towards me.

"Please, I am wounded." I retorted in hopes for some form of sympathy, a hand to be held out in helping.

The hag turned towards me and studied my figure judgmentally, even wounded I had the decency to avert my body slightly from the hag's gaze, my discomfort evident.

"Ah, You. I've been waiting for your arrival. Come, sit—" The hag's tone seemed much less hasty, her response left me unprepared.

"You are—" thoughts amidst myself flooded my mind, I couldn't think properly in my state, and the only word that came to mind blurted out, "An oracle?"

"Sit, this is about yourself, not me." The hag gestured toward a patchwork pillow atop a rather twisted wooden chair, desperate for any help with my injuries, I was in no place to argue, "Tell me your story elf, you're out of your depth, even you must see that."

Her question stumped me, and not for how abrupt or outlandish it seemed but because I did not remember; Who was I? Why was I here? How did I end up in this state? Memories flooded back abruptly, painful scorches to my mind, yelps of pain let out as I clutched my head, pulling aggressively at the hair on my scalp; a battle, fought by hundreds of elven kind, flashes of death, bodies dropping and blood spilt across the land.

"Your memories are so fragile. Are you beginning to remember?" The hag stared at me between distressing weeps, only taking moments to gaze down and sort her seating near a table, fit with a book, quill and ink.

"I was in the middle of a war— between the elves." The chair almost gave out from beneath me between my writhing; the hag seemed amused by my recollection, that or my pain, not that I cared to tell, "It was between high elves and wood elves. Nevaehlen, I— I fell."

"So they thought it seemed, if you fell, you wouldn't be here speaking with me now, would you, fool?" The snarky response angered me, pain from the wounds held me back from lashing out, and there was no use in ruining my only chance of help. I calmed my emotions. "You're a fierce and assertive girl, unbefitting of a high elf such as yourself— yet you've made it all the way here to me, the question now isn't what happened, but what you will do,"

Her words were oddly comforting at that moment, it gave me second thoughts. So much blood I had witnessed drawn across fields, perhaps, I needed a change of pace. 

The hag pushed something towards me, across the table's rough wood texture, the scrap of a bottle across the wood.

"What is this?" I looked at the bottle in apprehension.

"Medicine, you wanted help, here is your help." The hag watched as I quickly snatched the bottle from the table, drinking its contents; desperation's cold hand took grasp of me momentarily, though she didn't seem to mind.

"You have a long journey ahead of you, I will equip you with some bandages and food, however, I have one last question for you— do you know your name?" I finished the bottle without hesitation, and my gasps for air let out. I took a moment to myself to think, another painful spur falling over my head as the answer came to me.

"Anna Agarwaen."