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?)) "I... I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before." you mutter awkwardly, "but I supose stranger things have happened."
you sit down on the cushion nervously, and look to the hag before starting on your tale. "I was born to a high Elf father and wood elf mother. You can imagine the types of arguments they had.." you laughed to yourself quietly, remembering how your parents used to argue over food and songs, and any other little thing. "We were happy though," you add, and then, "I still miss them."
