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?))
". . . I am not much of an open book." He grimaces at the smell, but with a reluctant and kind look, sits beside her on the cushion suggested. The comfort of a seat washes over him long enough to get him to speak. He has a strangely Southern accent. "I am Leland. At least, that is my human name...I come from..." He hesitates on the truth, knowing he obviously doesn't look the part of a high elf, but neither his counterpart of wood Elvin either. He shrugs awkwardly. "A family of forbidden nature. Two different elves... raised me in'a human town, amongst humans, on a farm. Always got seen as'a freak. But they said it was better than how the elves would treat me. Kinda preferred it that way."
His hand reaches up to brush at a deep scar across the right of his face. Old burns to emphasize the pain he's gone through in the past, being different all his life. A sob story common to many, many others in the realm. He lacks understanding of much, being kept in the forest away from many public cities and towns, unaware of what the world truly could offer- or be cruel for.
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