GauntYeti

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?)) Maeilu'turii squints faintly as she steps further into the tent, her deep blue eyes quickly adjusting to the candlelit space as she warily takes in her surroundings. After a brief moment, her gaze lands back on the crone sat on the other end of the tent. The little Mali'ker responds in a lightly acerbic tone; ".. This ain't some kinda.. scam, or somethin', eh? The ol' "bring em in with the ominous portents and take all their minas" type o' deal..?" A moment passes; not even enough for the old crone to respond, and Maeilu frowns and steps further into the tent; her curiosity, evidently, having taken the better of her hesitance. She takes a seat, though doesn't relax. Her eyes still dart about anxiously, keeping an eye on every little movement the hag makes, and her right hand rests firmly placed on something hidden just below her old, moth-eaten shawl. She sighs, weightily, and then continues. "If this is a scam, you're in, ehh.. poor luck. All I've got're the clothes on my back and my story. Not a coin to my name, I'm 'fraid. So.. uh.. story, right." The dark elf girl clears her throat, and then begins; her voice a little unsteady as she speaks. "Ehm.. I'm from a little fishin' village. Real far from here. The, ah.. the village doesn't got a name. Too small fer that. I just knew it as home, but.. th island's called Djiazecko; funny name, ain't it..? Ah.. well, thing is, me an' my parents disagreed on a few things.. few big things, that is. Couldn't cut it with them no more, so, uh.. I ran. I - I'm confident, in that. I was never goin' to get along fine with.. fishing for th'rest of my life. Fish are, uh.. alright and all, but... sorry. Getting off track. Point is, I'm here now. Been that way for a little while, now; goin' from town to town, pickin' up the scraps where I can. M'still not sure what t'do with myself, really, but I'll figure it out. Always have. Maybe.. uh.. I'll become a sellsword? Or a knight? Somethin' like that. Though, then again, that's the sorta thing what gets ya killed. Hrmh.." The Mali'ker continues like this for some time, rambling on and on about her interests; the little hobbies she's picked up on her journey; her hopes, dreams, and the dazzling number of possibilities laid out before her. When she finally leaves, she does so with hesitance again. Though now, it is hesitance to go. And yet leave she does. There is, after all, an entire world waiting out there for her.