Ryniria

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?))

Elyon looks at the aging crone with a look of disdain for but a moment before letting out a gentle sigh, "I suppose I'm overdue for explaining myself", he says in their usual hushed tone before taking the seat offered. "There are three beginnings to my story, I assume you'd like to hear them all." she mutters in a defeated verbiage, "I don't remember much of my youth, just that my current family, the Wynneiros', are not my birth family." Elyon shuffles in place as they try to find the words to elaborate further. "From what I've pieced together, my began when I died. More specifically, when both my supposed birth parents and the Wynneiros' wanted to attempt making a pure blood high elf by means of the arcane." Elyon shudders for a moment, processing the weight of their words. "They did success, then I was 'born'," Elyon uttered, a solemn expression on his face, "But they somehow made my infertility occur just a couple years into my time with the Wynneiros family." Elyon briefly gestures to themselves, "In short terms, I am neither male nor female. Much of my life ended up being a blur, being nothing but a doll for my family." They wipe away a mix of sweat and tears as they continue, "Eventually they did what all children with toys do, they forgot about me. I starved, wasted away, and had nothing left in my life for another year until I gave up and left." Disdain crossing his face once more, their scowl deeper with a greater intensity. "I have my reservations, but when faced with the nightmare I've lived for others to cherish my 'pure-blood' for prestige and pride has soured my tastes to my own kin who seek my kind of cursed divinity." Elyon let's out a long, pained sigh as he finishes his story. "So how about some tea my fair lady?" they ask, replacing their scowl with a gentle smile to match his tone.