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.”
Velarith lowers herself gracefully onto the cusion, her glowing white eyes fixed on the being in front of her. Her voice is quiet, laced with a haunting calm. "My story.. begins under an obsidian sky, in a land where secrets are as deep as the roots of ancient trees. I.. was born into a clan that saw me as a blessing and a curse, my birth tied to an eclipse that painted the heavens violet."
She pauses, her hands resting lightly on her lap. "I was raised in the shadows of tradition, bound to rituals that whispered of power yet tied my spirit. My clan.. was betrayed from within, and in the flames of their treachery, I was cast out—a wanderer, carrying the remnants of my people's shattered pride."
Velarith's voice grew cold. "Now.. I walk a path of reclamation, and my journey brought me here. Tell me, hag—why were you expecting me?"
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