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?)) "I—" Wait, Faerys thinks for a second. All words leave. All that remains are the the echoes of wispy images. Something clicks, or rather doesn't, as her stare widens at the stranger before her. "I don't... I don't know," she finally says.
"You do not know your story?" the old woman asks.
Sitting in this silence undoubtedly casts Faerys in an awkward light and she realizes this. She hesitates to look up again. When she musters the courage, the old woman meets her with a grin just shy of a few teeth. Faerys hides a look of curiosity, so as not to offend, although she does not distrust her elder. She believes she had some reason to come right to the old woman's tent. If only she could remember.
Faerys strokes her thumb over her fingertips, which leads to caressing her palms and knuckles. Somehow, it feels right to her frazzled mind. "I am... I am Faerys of the forest. I was raised by it. Alone...." A foriegn sound weaves between her words. The young wood elf tries again. "All I remember is needing to travel here," she blurts in one breath. "I'm supposed to be here, I— .... No.... Is that right?"
As Faerys ponders this, the old woman awaits with patience. The sentiment is not lost on her, but the young wood elf regrets having strode in without a plan.
"Perhaps you hit your head, poor thing," the crone coos.
"Perhaps," Faerys mutters. She can't help but to hug her own arms.
"Well, losing one's roots is not the end of all things," the woman goes on. Her words meld into vague sounds the deeper Faerys delves into frantic thoughts.
Maybe this isn't right, her words whisper within. I'm not supposed to be here. No. No, no, no, it's not right! Faerys bolts to her feet, jostling a floating candle as she spins around. "I must apologize," she rambles, "I need to leave. Retrace my steps, as it were."
"Dense as an oak, it seems. So be it." The old woman begins walking her out.
Faerys hesitates just before the tent flap and turns. The odd expression tugs at her lost mind. "What did you say?"
"Of course, she told me to expect as much," the crone says more to herself.
"Who??"
The woman plants a wrinkled hand over Faerys's arm and shoos her forward! "Never you mind! Out!" she declares! "And mind yourself, Faerys. You'll find the swamp is none so nurturing as the forest you hail from."
"J-Just one moment—" before the wood elf can take a proper step, the old woman flicks her hand and an unseen force jostles her out of the tent! The tattered flap sways over her view. In the split of a second, Faerys realizes the old woman is no longer inside. She stands frozen, aimlessly choosing sounds to narrow in on. Frogs croak, water trickles from a musty breeze, and now she releases a slow breath. "I am Faerys," she murmurs. Her walk to nowhere, or somewhere, begins as she repeats what all she could remember. "Of the forest... I was raised by it. Al—" a shadow darting by alerts her, but she soon loosens her nerve. A black cat scurries along with a smaller, grey cat's scruff in its jaws. A parent carrying it's young, perhaps? Despite her understanding of this, Faerys fails to connect why it might be important. She fails to see how her presumtion unlocks a piece of who she is.
Her mind reshapes a shard of her past. She speaks her next truth with a firm voice. "The forest raised me. I am its keeper. And now... I must find a new hunt. Aspects, guide me."
Faerys tugs her moss green cloak as she begins her stride into the night. It's grassy scent will guide her, of that she is certain. She must find her forest home, remember how she became lost, and serve the Aspects along the way. She hopes deep in her soul that in completing those goals, more about herself will be revealed.
"Although," she speaks to herself, "it may be best to learn where it is I am, first...." Having only known the forest will prove tricky. Faerys resolves to ask the next person she meets in hopes they can enlighten her to this vast world of unknowns. She knows, or rather is unwaveringly optimistic, of the helpfulness of others. In her mind, all will be alright in the end.
