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?))

Elven Baelor adjusted the weight of his chainmail, the metal links clicking softly in the heavy, humid air of the tent. He sat, though his posture remained stiff, the gold trim of his blue cloak shimmering fitfully in the candlelight. He looked at the hag, his eyes reflecting a weariness that didn't quite belong on a man of his years.

"You've been expecting me?" Elven asked, his voice steady despite the strange atmosphere. "Then perhaps you already know the ending. But since you asked for the beginning..."

He looked down at his calloused palms—hands shaped by the forge, not the court.

"I am Elven, of House Baelor. My father is a master of the anvil in the Empire of Man. He spent his life trying to temper me, I think. My mother passed when I was only three, a shadow I barely remember. Her death... it broke something in my brother, Silas. He was seven years my senior, and when he turned sixteen, he simply walked into the horizon. I was nine. I haven't seen him since."

He reached out to touch the blue fabric of his cloak, smoothing the gold embroidery.

"My father took me under his wing after that. He kept me close to the heat of the coals, teaching me the song of the hammer to keep me from wandering like Silas. And I stayed. I stayed until I was twenty, swinging a hammer until my arms ached and the soot lived in my skin. But the fire in the forge wasn't enough. I wanted to serve the King. I wanted to be a Royal Knight—to be the shield, not just the smith who crafts it."

Elven’s expression softened, then turned bitter. "I headed for the capital, but my path took me through the Forest of Iryalen. That is where I met Eyra. A wood elf. She saw the man beneath the steel, and for a moment, the King’s court felt a lifetime away."

He gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening.

"Her kin did not share her heart. They saw a human trespasser, a 'breaker of iron.' They hunted me out of those woods like a common beast. I didn't leave because I was finished with her; I left because I wanted to live long enough to see her again."

Elven looked up at the hag, the dim candlelight catching the determination in his gaze. "So, I followed the star-charts and the muddy roads until I reached this wretched place. I wear this blue for my father’s house, and this gold to remind me of the vow I haven't yet fulfilled."