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?))
"I was born in an elven land many moons ago. I had a loving mother and father and for a long time we lived in peace. But there came a time where war fell upon our land and a band of raiders came into our village and slaughtered most of the people. My parents were not so lucky and died, but I escaped and fled into the woods." The elf pauses, somber, stroking his jaw as he muses for a few moments in silence. "I've lived the life of a hermit since then, wandering between fair grazing lands. It was decades, if not centuries ago and I've come to know peace in my own way. But it still scars me, even now... there is little else for me to say, unless you want to know what I do in my day-to-day. I've persisted off foraging and hunting for the most part and I've picked up a great many skills along the way, such as woodcraft and skill with a bow. I hope one day to avenge them, you know. But until then I'm content to live my life in peace and enjoy nature for what it is."
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