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?))
You suspiciously eye the hag, unsure of her motive and switch feet as you stand. "I'm just passing through. Nothing more than a stop on my journey." You pause. "I'm not interested in my fate being told, or my palm being read." Your tone is blunt, and cold as ice.
"I have more important things to do, books to find, plants to harvest. My research is all that matters."
You're a bookish Wood Elf, dedicating her life to holistic remedies, researching for a cure to heal your younger sisters ailments. You don't plan to make friends, and hopefully no foes along the way - keeping to yourself is a must; nothing should come before your goal.
