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.”
Through the slits of his helmet, a pair of eyes flashed from underneath, as the helmet craned around to get a better read of the hag. Without much of a word, the dark-elf, clad in a hauberk and a lamellar chestplate, and couldn’t be told if he even was, sat down on the cushion with a clump, the chain jingling from the impact as if like a bell. From a satchel saddled at his back, he pulled out a letter.
“I take it this is yours,” he said. His voice was cool, with a metallic muffle behind the helmet. He set the letter down, reaching up to take off the helmet, and pull back on the hood of metallic rings.
“Since I was a boy I’ve helped my parents on our small piece of land. I helped with the crops, I’ve helped with the herds, I’ve helped with the smithing. It was only us three. As I grew up, my father began to teach me the sword, and my mother began to teach me medicinal herbs. My father was once a warrior, descended from Clan Tudorix. He had a sentiment of protecting others and his kin, and he wanted me to take up that mantle, but being the rebellious idiot I was, I ran off on my own when I reached adulthood. I ran with a mercenary group for a while, fought a good handful of battles, and got my experience in. I met a girl I liked a lot, and I had nearly forgotten about my parents. But there came a night when we were attacked by bandits. Instead of defending her, I ran, for I had no weapons on met. I hadn’t known myself in that moment, and I hadn’t known my past until I returned to the sight of the attack, where her mingled body burned my soul.”
For a moment, Llum’aher paused, looking away from the hag. His finger rubbed at the side of his helmet. His eyes retold the pain he felt, the guilt, the utter shame. The dark elf heaved a sigh, and looked back at the hag.
“I left the group, and went back home to my parents. They were alive and well, although older… They were happy to see me again, and that I was safe and sound. I told them everything, and they were rightfully upset over it all.”
His eyes reflected a sorrowful look, and his arms dropped a bit, letting his helmet rest on the floor. The dark elf heaved one last sigh, before looking back up, a rising determination gleaming from his face.
“I wanted to atone for what I had done. Seeing that old house made me remember who they made me to be. It was someone who cared for the world, to the best of his ability. I know I will screw up, and I know that I might not always be at the best of that goal, but I know that it shouldn’t stop me from trying, especially with the blood on my hands. And that’s what I intend to do, to love others, and the carry on the memory of my family, of my late-love, to remember them forever, and to spread around what they have given me.
