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?))
"Ah, well. I would tell you my blood family first, if I could. As a baby my family left me in the woods, where I was then found by three dark elves, nearly two days later. They had then raised me to protect myself, teaching me the art of sword wielding and stealth. I learned to be on my toes, to never let anyone know where you are unless you were right in front of them. They each taught me different skills, one of them being protection and stealth, the other the ability to find food and water while placed in unlucky circumstances and the last one being the man who had raised me as one of his own. A man I truly considered father. These men were not in one area though, throughout my childhood we were nomadic going from one area to another, never the ability to catch a breath. That led to being on my own personal mission to protect my now found family. Unfortunately, I failed that mission one day. The man I called father and I, were near a river stream one day hunting fish. I had heard a crack of a stick behind me and quickly looked back, not seeing anything there. I shrugged it off seeing as there was no threat. However, my father had stopped dead in his tracks and put his hand on my shoulder as he looked around. Before I knew it a group of humans, far from their own home. Had attacked us. No motive in thought other than the psychosis of being in starvation and sleep deprivation. I can only imagine they wandered too far from their region... However, I tried to fight them off... I damn well tried. That night I wasn't able to save my father. I ran off and managed to escape the humans, however I ran too far and lost my tracks. There I was, a lonesome thirteen-year-old. Just had lost my father, now my way home. I knew I couldn't give up on myself, I had been abandoned once and I will not be powerless again. I had set up a base in a giant tree I had found. Never to see my caregivers again. Throughout the years I had built a giant tree house, with friends I had made out of sticks and rocks, I befriended local wildlife though never fully gaining their trust. However, one day when I had turned twenty, I decided to venture out. I had felt myself slowly lose myself due to the loneliness. I traveled fourteen days and fourteen nights until I had stumbled across a small village. There I was greeted with curious and intrigued villagers. They asked my story and it had sunk in how my ability to speak to others was very minimal. They were using dialect I had never heard; they all somehow knew what to say when to say and tended to look at me funny when I would speak off, in their eyes. They found me amusing and took me in as one of them. However, this didn't last long due to my upbringing of being nomadic, having stayed there for over a year had made me feel underwhelmed and as those I was lacking something. I said my goodbyes to a select group of villagers I had grown fond of and left in the night. One had whispered to me of a place I would have to travel mountains for. He then slipped a map into my pocket and shooed me off. I have been traveling for years. And I am now here. For who knows how long."
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