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?))
You step forward, feeling the dampness of the ground seep through your boots as you approach the hag. You pause before sitting, as you cautiously examine the cushion for signs of magical tampering. "Y'know, I'm used to people not seeing me coming," you mutter, as you reluctantly accept your host's invitation, "Regardless, I've come a long way to find you. My name is Nero. I'm a ranger, from Norland. I’m a stranger to this land, but not its perils. I’m searching for something; I was told you might be able to help me.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, curiosity mingled with something deeper - recognition, perhaps.
“I’m told my parents died when I was little… farther back than I can remember - attacked by some marauders in their oxcart. I don’t know the truth of it… but whatever became of them, I was taken in by a tribe of Highlanders.”
You glance around the tent, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows. The wind picks up as you gather your thoughts. The hag remains silent, but eagerly awaiting your next words.
“They raised me as one of their own. I played with them, and ate with them… and lay with them. They taught me how to fight, and how to brave the wilds. They made me everything I am today, I care for them - I do… but I’m lost. I need to find my people,” he pauses, as if struggling for a better word, “my people: my fellow Elfkind.”
As you continue to speak, the candles around the tent begin to die out. The hag leans back in her chair, her gaze never breaking from you; she examines your solemn, yet youthful mien illuminated by the fading light.
“I was raised like a human, but I’ll never be one of them. Most of my brothers and sisters will be dead before I even break a century - their grandchildren too, long before I’m gone,” you sigh, “I don’t age. I’ve been this way for almost 30 years, but they’ve moved on without me. They’ve homes… and families. And purpose. I seek my homeland, and I'm prepared for whatever it takes to get there."
