ZackTimekiller

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?)) Zydril greeted the old lady with a confident green, although at the sudden demand the Dark Elf paused for a moment to reconsider his decisions, when he figured that there's no ill-intent behind the figure's intentions. He sat down, crossing his legs atop of another as his back slightly leaned forward, "Hmm..! Hmmm-hmm!" Zydril wagged his finger, with a disapproved hum like a disappointed mother, "Tsk, tsk, quite rude to be so demanding, yet lacking proper introductory when you've act like I own you an explanation of my sacred origins!" The Dark Elf exclaimed quite dramatically, placing a hand over his chest, leaning back with an exaggerated gesture with a flick of a wrist. "Hmph!" Zydril folded his arms over his chest, turning his head to look the other direction. A finger ran over the edge of the woolen fabric of his cape, his mind floating somewhere else, re-considering what's demand of him. "Hm, but what harm does it do to know a wee bit of me, aye? After all, who can ever resist this!" The Dark Elf spread his arms wide, showcasing more of his broad silhouette, "I am Zydril! A dedicated blacksmith, and also part-time entertainer! After all, who the hell sells all these fancy equipment, be all grumpy, and not have some twitch of fun without a jolly good show, am I right?" Zydril snapped their fingers towards the old lady, not really considering her a hag as implied, perhaps that could stem from his world-view. "Aren't I great already?!" He stood up from where he sat, spinning on his heel, the flow of his cape alongside his long braided hair trailed from behind, "Ah, the good ol', good ol', but ya' know, if you must! I can tell you why I'm here, and that is to be greater! To reach the heights, and overcome my blunders. I wish to be a better version of me. And, what better yet to do it anew in this dingy ol' town, aye?" The Dark Elf stopped, pointing fingers at the old lady with a huge smirk crossed his lips, there was a fiery passion behind his eyes, "I'm doing this for the betterment of myself, and myself only. Because my life only consists of me, myself, and I." He tapped his chest proudly.

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?)) Zydril greeted the old lady with a confident green, although at the sudden demand the Dark Elf paused for a moment to reconsider his decisions, when he figured that there's no ill-intent behind the figure's intentions. He sat down, crossing his legs atop of another as his back slightly leaned forward, "Hmm..! Hmmm-hmm!" Zydril wagged his finger, with a disapproved hum like a disappointed mother, "Tsk, tsk, quite rude to be so demanding, yet lacking proper introductory when you've act like I own you an explanation of my sacred origins!" The Dark Elf exclaimed quite dramatically, placing a hand over his chest, leaning back with an exaggerated gesture with a flick of a wrist. "Hmph!" Zydril folded his arms over his chest, turning his head to look the other direction. A finger ran over the edge of the woolen fabric of his cape, his mind floating somewhere else, re-considering what's demand of him. "Hm, but what harm does it do to know a wee bit of me, aye? After all, who can ever resist this!" The Dark Elf spread his arms wide, showcasing more of his broad silhouette, "I am Zydril! A dedicated blacksmith, and also part-time entertainer! After all, who the hell sells all these fancy equipment, be all grumpy, and not have some twitch of fun without a jolly good show, am I right?" Zydril snapped their fingers towards the old lady, not really considering her a hag as implied, perhaps that could stem from his world-view. "Aren't I great already?!" He stood up from where he sat, spinning on his heel, the flow of his cape alongside his long braided hair trailed from behind, "Ah, the good ol', good ol', but ya' know, if you must! I can tell you why I'm here, and that is to be greater! To reach the heights, and overcome my blunders. I wish to be a better version of me. And, what better yet to do it anew in this dingy ol' town, aye?" The Dark Elf stopped, pointing fingers at the old lady with a huge smirk crossed his lips, there was a fiery passion behind his eyes, "I'm doing this for the betterment of myself, and myself only. Because my life only consists of me, myself, and I." He tapped his chest proudly.