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?))
Imogenn steps lightly across the damp ground, her boots slick with mud, the faint glow of candlelight casting flickers across her pale features. She lowers her hood as she enters the tent, the scent of moss and melted wax clinging to the air. Her bright blue eyes meet the hag’s, not with fear, but with quiet resolve.
She lowers herself onto the cushion, her satchel brushing the floor beside her. “I was born in the spires of Elareth,” she begins, her voice smooth but edged with weariness, “raised among scholars and silver-tongued nobles who thought books and bloodlines were all that mattered.”
A pause. Her fingers graze the sash at her waist. “But I was never meant to stay there. I started seeing things—omens in dreams, places I’d never been. Something… pulling me beyond the marble halls.” Her gaze flickers toward the floating candles. “So I left. Traveled far. Followed the signs. And they led me here—to you.”
She leans in slightly. “You said you’ve been expecting me. Then you know I’m not just another lost elf. Something is coming. And I think I’m a part of it.”
-- can be continued!
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