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?)) "Ah, er.. Certainly a place you have here." the elf stutters, stiffening partly as he reluctantly settles upon the cushion. His ears are downturned ever so slightly, his scarred fingers coming up to brush a few curly strands behind the pointed appendages. His eyes, whilst not entirely visible, seem to eye the old woman up and down. Hazy orange pupils flickering curiosuly at her as he continued to fidget with small whisps of hair. Celkor is partly uncertain as he keens his head to the side to peer at the entrance for a moment, some part of himself desiring to leave this dingy place and seek out more... esteemed company and shelter, but despite this - the elf seems to bite their cheek and keep themselves planted, for what reason was unbeknownst to them.
The air is thick with anticipation, a slight twinge of awkwardness too as the man has kept his tongue to himself. But, that is only until the old hag breaks the silence with a scoff, "Cat got your tongue, or is it your own prestige that prevents you from speaking to those 'beneath' you?" a pause from the woman, "Simply tell me your tale, or your purpose here. I wont cut your tongue out."
Celkor at these string of words seems to snap from his daze, his tired gaze partly narrowing through his mask at the 'attack' but, alas, he doesn't snap back. The being clears his throat with a raspy cough, before settling scarred palms upon his lap, "Well, since you seem more than keen to pry I... don't suppose i shouldn't let you pry. You say you've been awaiting me, so I assume you know of my name." His head keens forwards, ears slightly perking, "But, in the case you don't - I am Celkor, of a great desert leigon far from here. One that held those in their ranks with high regard - like myself, a mage." There is an air of pride that briefly hangs about their shoulders. But, since the crone hadn't really replied, the elf sunk back down unto his seat. Not so great anymore he was. "Ah, but my prowess has dwindled since I left. I don't know why, but all I have left of it are the scars on my palms from weilding such a thing. I hope to get my hands on such a thing again." There is an exhale as the high-elf stairs up towards the damp, moss-laiden roof. He grimaces before speaking again, "I'm here on a journey for myself, mostly. To seek out new knowledge, new prowess and bring it back to share with the people of my lands. To resto-.. Ahem, to show my fellows that I am more capable than they already believe."
I hope this is sufficient enough!
