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?))
"Thank you" Leanor sits down on the cushion, legs crossed "Back in Nevaehlen, my Parents always preached to me about the Aspects, and I did believe in them for quite a few years. However after hearing about other beliefs, I am not quite sure of what the truth really looks like.. "Leanor fiddles with his fingers "I left Nevaehlen in search of knowledge, and am yet to chance upon the truth. it seems as if, with every bit of knowledge I gain, even more uncertainties arise, almost leading me to believe that truth itself is but a concept we created to feel justified in our actions. However, I will not give up, until I either found the truth, or a proof it doesn't exist, so I will keep searching." Leanor corrects his position to sit upright again "My fondest memory is crafting my first bow. In hindsight it was terrible. It was crooked, with soft wood that couldn't build enough tension for the arrow to fly even 15 feet! But I was so proud. And even though it was bad, my mother praised me like it was the most elegant tool she had ever laid her eyes upon. I will be ever grateful to her kindness.. it is such a shame" The wood-elf puts a hand on his cheek "A shame we separated in conflict over mere beliefs.."
