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?))
The tall yet lean maiden would scan the area with her light lilac eyes, pausing as she looked around for any signs of danger, trudging cautiously; as she made her way up to a set of shacks and cabins, the smell of the rotted wood immediately hitting her nose, as she repulsed and took a step back; quickly she would duck and dodge underneath some large branches before taking her first step into the tattered tent, something about this place and the way it sat in ruins remained her of her home; before turning her attention to a voice disrupting her thoughts. Zinnia seemed surprised that someone was here, her eyes slightly widening as she took soft, silent steps making her way over towards the cushion the hag had directed her to. "Well, where do I begin?" She said in reply; her eyes darting towards the old maiden, "My home was left in ruins by our enemies; my family's enemies decimated my brothers and sisters. We were of great strength and determination; and yet, our enemies got the better of us." The dark elf paused in her tracks; she seemed hesitant to continue further as resentment bubbled up inside her; she had already opened up so much to this stranger, and yet; she felt compelled to do just that, "My supposed uncle, rumour has it that he is searching for the survivors and I have made it my mission; that I will find him first." sitting with her hands neatly piled in her lap, she continued rambling on for some time, telling the hag about her old home and her future aspirations.
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