Astravaya

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.” Rulan gave the room a quick look, observing the worn fabrics of the tent, and the rest of its interior. He managed to slowly sit down onto the cushion, and the soles of his feet were sore from the journey so far. " Well.. I was born in Norland. " The youth started as he withdrew a string from his satchel, pulling his locs back and tying them into a half-pony tail. " My father raised me while my mother frequently travelled. I never really got to see her much. But my old man was smart, and we did fine without her. Whenever he wasn't teaching me how to defend myself, how to hunt or read I was lugging all the heavy weight around. After I reached the age of eighteen we both agreed that I should travel on my own, and hopefully get a job with enough coin for me to live comfortably. " Rulan, finishing his little monologue, turned his attention to the candles, his head tilting upwards as his brow furrowed. " You're a mage, right? " He gestured at the candles with his gloved hand. " Is that how you know me? "