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.”
The damp air of the swamp clings to Atelo's skin as he steps into the tent, the scent of rot and moss heavy in his nostrils. The flickering candles cast eerie shadows, but he remains unshaken. His dark elven eyes adjust quickly to the dim light, and he meets the old hag's gaze with a calm, steady look. "I am Atelo," he begins, his voice carrying the faint accent of his orc upbringing. "Raised by the orcs of the Iron Uzg, I am a dark elf by blood, but my heart beats with the honor and strength of the orcs who found me, a lost child, and made me one of their own." He continues, "I've traveled through forests and deserts, fought in battles alongside my orc brethren, and now I find myself in this swampy town, seeking answers and new challenges. My journey is one of discovery, not just of the world around me, but of the depths of my own spirit and heritage." "I've heard whispers of this place, of its secrets and mysteries. I'm here to uncover the truth, to learn what fate has in store for me. So, wise one, what is it that you've been expecting? What do you see in my future?" Atelo asks, his gaze fixed on the old hag, waiting for her response.
Also I do apologize but when I went to dark elf skins the drive would not open so I had to create my own. And also I see that you are low on Orcs." Legally, however, an Orc can be a citizen of any race that has earned his place among the Orcs of the Iron Uzg."
If you would like to place me amongst Orcs I would be interested in that. If not I understand!
