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?)) My Response :
She'd look around, admiring the surroundings one last time before facing the woman. She furrowed her brow, biting the inside of her cheek and lifting my hood from her head. She'd place her hand on the edge of the [let's say there's a table in front of me] table and guiding myself down to the cushion. She sat as dust arose from the cushion and examined the woman's face. She'd part her lips, opening her mouth and beginning to speak with a slight accent, clearing her throat, "What do you mean, - "It's you"?" She'd listen to the woman explain herself, hurrying to tell her story. "Alright." She'd fix her eyes on hers.
"My name is Gwynnealith Tinnúviel. I am a high elf, born and raised in the small nation of Talar'nor. My mother a commoner, my father a guard. Recently, my mother and father died in a fire after a battle and I came here to escape from it all. I wanted to move on." She'd stumble with words, not wanting to share more with this stranger since she didn't know her motives herself, and was still trying to figure herself out. She'd stand. "I have to go." She'd mumble, putting her hood back on and hurrying out, hopping onto her stallion and riding away.
[WIP , I will figure out more about my character as I roleplay and figure out the in-game places, etc.]
