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?)) Erianor takes a seat, setting his bow and quiver aside, he glances at the hag, for but a moment, and sighs..."My story... well... It's not as glorious or as inspiring as other folks who tread these roads tell. I'm but a ranger, I hail from the southern woodlands, I grew up amongst the old groves and learned the art of hunting from the early days of my life. Yet despite my meager youthful accomplishments, I'm still on the path of knowledge and skill. I seek to witness all of nature's gifts, to see the tallest peaks, the shallowest of waters, and the grand cities that lie beyond the horizons." Erianor glances at the ground for a brief moment." Yet I do feel like I must abide by my kin, despite my call for adventure I yearn to settle to live amongst nature and my fellow wood elves, for where they dwell, I truly feel at home."
