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?)) The unnoticed presence of the crone catches Noelle off guard, pulling her head back into the armor. She pauses momentarily, removing her hand from its instinctual place at her sword's pommel. The woman's words snake through the gaps of metal, making their way to her guest's ears. "I'm surprised you know me. Not many do." The ironclad elf pauses momentarily, her words not wanting to leave her lips. "You.. A previous patron?.. Though you don't seem the type." Her armor creaks as she moves to a half-kneel upon the cushion. "I am simple. For hire, I complete deeds." She rose, realigning herself in front of the crone. "Albeit some hire for more problematic errands.." Unbeknownst to the woman, Noelle's suspicion grows. Her obscured face mixes with signs of unease and restlessness, pulling her face taunt. She narrowed her eyes. "If you mean a more personal story, I will not share." Her stance shifted, moving her vulnerable side opposite of the hag. "You never did speak of where you've known me." She let in a sharp inhale, pausing for a breath. "A brief tale couldn't hurt.." Noelle's head angled, keeping the crone in clear view. "I do not know my blood, nor do I have a desire to. I was raised as a human, by a human. He made who I am." Her gaze twitched, sliding off to the side while her posture softened. The mercenary's attention was recovered, now giving it to the woman once more. "Now speak. Where have you seen me?" Noelle's accusatory words shot towards her.
