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?))
Ithia stepped cautiously towards the cushion, her eyes flicking between the candles suspended in the air and the old hag’s weathered face. The smell of the swamp clung to the air around them, heavy and damp. “Well, if you’ve been expecting me, I suppose you already know some of it,” she said with a small smile, "But I’ll tell you anyway since it seems we’ve crossed paths for a reason.” she looked at the cushion but didn't sit down, “My name is Ithia,” she said, locking eyes with her. “My father was a High Elf, my mother a Wood Elf. I was raised in the forests, learning the ways of the Wood Elves, but always… I wanted something more. Magic runs deep in my blood, and the stories my father told me of the High Elves’ mastery of the arcane left me longing to learn.” she paused for a moment, her voice softening. “ I’ve left my home in the woods behind to learn magic, as I'm very interested in high elves' magic, my mother told me that she wasn't sure about this idea but I'm going anyway, I'm not gonna give up on it so easily” she leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied her in return. “Now, tell me. What did you mean when you said you were expecting me? Because I don’t recall ever meeting you”
