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?))
My eyes move to the cushion, and I walk over to it, sitting on my knees, and carefully brushing off my dress. "My story, you say?" I pause for a moment, "Well, I grew up in an elven family. It was just me, my mother and father. We were quite well-off, and lived near a community of many folk from different backgrounds and races. At a young age, I had always loved to run around in the grass, and explore on my own, observing the plants and animals the forests and fields had to offer. I would return home late, and spend all my days writing down new, fascinating discoveries I had made about the flora and fauna. As I grew older, I started desiring more adventure. I had enjoyed my homey life, but wanted to see, feel, hear, and discover more. I decided at the age of 21 to leave my home, and set out on my own adventure, and... now I'm here."
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