grassbrigade

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 elven man leaned against the entrance of the tent, his foxlike eyes studying the hag intently. The pause that followed seemed to fill the air, its silence becoming almost tangible, like a cawing bird in the distance. The hag's wrinkled face and piercing gaze held no impact on him. With caution in his voice, the man spoke, his words carrying a distinct accent, Celtic almost, . "Sooo.. are yeau' onn-uf them miastiacs? A reeliuc, per-chaps?" His tone wasn't quite ordinary, his accent was brutal, yet stern; it bore the weight of his origins. The High Elvish boy was yet to become acquainted with the old lady before him, but her silence spoke volumes. Without waiting for her response, he continued.. As if he was nervous of the impasse of cold and bitter silence. "Yauh, yauh, I have ear t'is kind of thaung befare. Ain't much to tell. Fact eis' - I'm lookin' for an' kind of herb's thaet could stagnate tissue groweth.." As he said this, he pressed forward, leaning over the hag, crossing his arms. "Baaaaut.. Naume eis Yaumo'l (Yawh-mow-uel), aaaaannd... I've.. forsaken my ancesturiael laund fu' ae new.. auuhh.. paath.. me'ss-suppose." He'd pause, looking down, flustered over his own words. He quickly added right after pausing briefly - "T-Traded my menage's granary for uh chance at ae differaunt life..." He then glanced directly at her pupils, tracing her expression. "Trust me, it wasn't 'euh easy choice." He paused for a moment once more, squinting as he struggled to recall a particular name. "Maaaannnyyy o' my kindreds' have wandered aimlessly for quite sum' eras, yauh-knaow. Me Paupar, told me about the legends of... uh... Laureii.. Hhiii... if t-that's even... Regardless, as a haudri' farmhand, I tende' to the fields out in the Eastern Saun.. It'auh raugh life, yauh-knaow. But then, my Mamri' fell veerry veryyyy ill with some kilt of feverish bluu raash.. Nout t'sure whuat it was.. had some sorts' of blue pox and boils... Cists built right along 'er neck and chest.." He'd freeze, reminiscing about it for a mere moment, before confining once more. "Auunneeewaaay, M'thought I'd feind meself a meager market stall or 'uh tradin' post. Stead, I ...got lost... m'thinks." His eyes widened as he turned his gaze towards the old lady, then a heavy sigh escaped his lips, as if he were gasping for air to continue speaking. "W-Wait.. if you've been expecting me, then I must have stumbled upon the right' market stall. Heh, well, how about that?" He'd then pause, and quickly rustled into the seat.