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Vurru

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  1. Vurru

    faxyyif

    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?)) Vulre sits down, smiles, and extends a hand for the old woman to shake, is it not accepted, but she understands. With a small uncomfortable laugh she pulls her hand back and begins, "My story, you ask?" though a response is not given she knows to continue. "Well, my mother, a large Pure Elf, courted my father, despite the social repercussions, a small Dark Elf. They had me, and my siblings, immediately after marriage. My mother was scared she was nearing the end of her life after freshly reaching 100, which is quite ludicrous, but I digress. I do believe she rushed a relationship with my father in fear of never having a family, however my father was the complete opposite, he loves her to death and honestly I don't think he would have ever married anyone else." Vulre finishes her start, curious to see if the old woman would have a reaction, any facial expression, breath change, or just a small statement would be enough, but she is met with nothing but the feeling the hag wishes for her to get on with telling her about her life rather than an explanation of how she came to be, so she does. "Well, that must have bored you, so I'll tell you about me now. I am, of course, half High Elf and half Dark Elf. I've never really gotten a proper interaction with others outside of my immediate family until recently because my mother wholly refused to meet anyone who wasn't a High Elf, an odd prejudice for someone married to a Dark Elf of course, its a miracle she met my father, honestly. Anyway, my love for knowledge blossomed when I was about 5 and learning to read, It was so easy, I craved to know more, like learning to cook, and to draw, to sew, and to understand. Nothing was ever enough, because we didn't have much. Eventually, I grew bored of my life, its greedy, I know, but I grew bored of my family's simpleness, of the way I felt I would never know something new, so with a heavy heart, I said my goodbyes, promised to return, and left." Vulre stares at the old woman, wondering if she has anything worthwhile to tell her. "I see, is that all?" The Hag questions. After contemplation, Vulre answers "I believe so, for now. Should we ever meet again, I will have stories and knowledge beyond anything I've ever dreamed of, and if you wish, I would be happy too share one or two with you." She smiles, it seems she will not be getting much out of The Hag, but for now she decides that is okay.
  2. Vurru

    Faxyyif

    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 stare at her blankly, as if not processing the words she's spoken to me. With a dull gaze, I quietly take my place in the spot the elderly woman has offered to me. I stare at her before speaking, my throat horse from lack of water and lips so shriveled and dry you can see my pearly yellows a small amount even when my mouth is closed, "My story?..." I ask confused, staring at her, though I gain no response. Her unmoved stare is locked on me, and I cannot shake my discomfort. "My story, right. I used to live with my family, which was quite large. A month ago I decided I wanted to get away from them and make a bunch of money without realizing I struggle to survive on my own, going as far to say I can't. I had no plan, and am paying the price for my greed and stupidity." I stare at the old woman expecting to gain pity or a mocking tone however I am met with no response once again. Anger filling me from lack of conversation, I huff and crawl my way out of the tent before trying to slam the cloth entrance to no avail. Stomping away, I curse the unmoved wench under my breath.
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