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 story, hm?" The dusky elf spoke before taking a seat. His crimson eyes traced the inner layers of the tent and it's tattered pattern, before returning to settle on the elderly lady in front of him. "It's quite the long one, but... very well, I suppose." If the hag were to look closely, she'd be able to tell that with his dark attire with traces of blue, his most notable feature is the distinct scar on the tip of his left ear. "Back in my homeland, my parents, they weren't exactly the favorites amongst our community." He drums his fingers against the top of his knee, he himself didn't mind getting too far into his history. As far as he was concerned, it was behind him now. "Hence, I was under quite a bit of oppression at a young age. A bit of pain." He gestures his hand in the air, referencing his scarred ear. "Now I roam the world, a simple wayward adventurer."
