Coiophon

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.”

 

Esadru took a cautious step forward, the damp ground squelching beneath his feet. He lowered himself onto the cushion, and the softness enveloped him. The hag ahead gave off a source of unease, yet the young elf compelled. "Well, I am Esadru Dralas, eighteen winters old, and I have grown alongside my three dark-elven twins. I was born into a noble family, living in a lavish environment for most of my life." He paused, his facial features turning grim. He exhaled, staring down at his weightless palms in his lap. "One night, a storm occurred. I still remember how loud the howls of wind outside my bedroom window were. When we least expected it and thought no one would attempt to be outside, a band of thieves invaded our home. They pillaged, tearing the house inside out. My siblings chose to flee to preserve our lives, heading deep into the storm as hail and rain crashed down on us. We wandered aimlessly through the night without direction or a place to go."

Esadru shifted uncomfortably on the cushion, rolling his shoulders as if trying to ease the grief that weighed him down. He didn't look at the hag or bother to check if she was listening and continued for himself. "We fled into the wilderness, concluding that we had to adapt to a new lifestyle. We struggled to hunt; foraging wasn't an issue, yet we learned to depend on one another. We learned to survive by any means necessary."