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?))
*Elyrantha sits down, crossing her legs.*
”My story? Alright.”
*She paused for a moment, and then spoke.*
”I was raised in a family of alcoholic parents. I was the only child, and I would always get abused. They have done horrible things to me. I don’t want to get into details, all you need to know is that they died from too much alcohol a few years ago, when I was about 16 years old. I have no idea how many years that is in human years.”
*She paused again, catching a bit of breath.*
”Because of my parents, I despise alcohol. I’m scared of becoming the same alcoholics as they were. I don’t want that. I avoid any alcohol I see.
