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?))
Luthien let his eyes roam over her face, frowning and studying her face for a moment before he sat down on the cushion with a rather abnormal acceptance. He took a beer flask from the pocket of his tunic, which he first showed her and then took a large sip after getting her approval. And he said: "I opened my eyes as the child of two lovers, a high elf and a forest elf, the first eyes that saw me were my mother and my father who watched me anxiously. At least that's what my grandfather says. I never had a place to call home, I traveled... I traveled. I did every job you can think of, and I still do. I value the bonds of friendship, but I have few close friends." Luthien grimaced at his last words. He studied her face again for a while. "Human beer tastes strange, there are no bars around here, are there?"
