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 Elf tilts his head before doing a quick inspection of his surroundings, his eyes looking over all the different tchotchkes and easily memorable details of the room. "My name's Ralzien. I'm a single child of two… ‘pure’ blooded Mali'aheral. Growing up was rather difficult as both of my parents were very obviously morally impure, and thus we weren't able to live amongst them." he'd lean back in his seat, lifting his arms up and locking his fingers together to cradle the back of his head - scratching an itch momentarily. "I guess - Well, I grew up in Alamaris, and I was exposed to quite a lot. I can't particularly say I enjoyed any of the people or places I’d been to. I suppose I am still in pursuit of somewhere to call home."
