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?)) "...Oh, me?"
The Elf leisurely lounges over the back of the chair, leaning over its frame.
"Do enlighten me."
The old hag does not speak a word; not even a breath.
"Ahh...You are waiting for me to tell YOU," The Elf chortles, the words flowing in the wind like song. "...That's fun, dear. Where do we start?"
He taps his fingers against the back of the chair he leans on, his form threatening to topple it. A coy smile morphs his face, and his shining blue eyes trail upward in thought. The pupils flick through many pages of memory.
"...This ultimately depends on which 'Me' we are speaking of? Do we begin with Dayle: The shipboy! Eager for his big break? No, no, he drowned in a storm. His story ended before it began. Or, perhaps...hmm. Where could I....have met you?"
The elf's eyes light up in recognition, and a laughing wheeze breaks past his lips.
"Do you speak of Inglboer? That man?! Oh, he was certainly one of my-!
"Neldalinde." The hag's voice slices through his. "The Twin Shadow."
A gross, heavy silence fills the tent, and the light of the candles is snuffed out with a gust of wind.
