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?))
Eloth paused, "My, story..."
He thought about it, picturing his life, though he didn't wish to be too open with the stranger.
"My story, takes place in Dorthonion." He began.
"There's a grove, sacred to the Goddess. We live there, our Seed has been its keeper longer than memory.
Most of my life belongs there, at home. I couldn't think of much worth telling, its certainly not an important place...
Most of my sisters have followed my grandmother's path in healing. I haven't been very content with that.
Only my father comes from a different life, but you would already know about that...
His business is knowledge; he works with a group of scholars, there's a society,
mostly from Haelun'or but some of Elvenesse I think too.
He finds things, tracks them down. A traveler mostly.
And now I guess I might be too.
"You guess?" she interrupted.
"Well, I, didn't mean like that." He went on... wrapping up the story...
They sat silently for a minute. Her glazed eyes studied him.
Abruptly, she pulled something from her sleeve placing it on the table.
A small slip of paper. "Take it," she muttered, "you'll know where to go."
