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?)) "Oh well, what a bother!" Suurir says. "Well, I come from a small village out of Fi’andria as my parents followed in Long March West away from our homeland" he goes on "They would always tell me of the stories of old, and how I should be proud of my heritage. One day, however, they-" he abruptly stops "they were killed in a drought due to starvation" he stops again. "That is when most of my companions claim that I went kind of mad, but that is not of the present." He closes in and in a hushed tone says "As for my ambition... Oh well, I wish to see the glory of the high elves restored. I wish to see our rightfull lands returned and the ancient glories such as our language revived"
