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?)) His eyes narrowed slightly as he inched forward cautiously. The cushion depressed under his weight as he sat, still firmly on edge. His long dark coat shifted and swayed as it settled around his gaunt body. The soft sound of metal clicking against itself sounded from the quiver on his back, while the blade on his belt hugged his waist. Though he had travelled far and long to get here, somehow he found himself anxious to return home... if they'd even have him. Realizing she wasn't going to talk, he finally parted his lips and muttered just loud enough to hear. "...your letter claimed you knew my mother. Was that true? Or just a ruse to trick me into coming here, to you...?" His gaze was relentless and his deep red eyes demanded an answer.
The fellow sitting across from the hag was Avlin Ashburn, a half-elf archer raised by barkeeps in a far off town, and the reason he found himself here, in this witch's hut, was a tragic one; weeks prior, the hybrid awoke to the sounds of shouting and the horrific stench of something burning outside. He lept from his bed and rushed to get his bow before rushing out to the street. He looked out at the cobblestone pathway he'd walked down his whole life, seeing it now littered with bodies of men, evidence of a battle fought and lost. As his elvish eyes surveyed the area, a deep rumbling was heard from the dirt. Something tunneled out of the ground, its very presence seeming to make the world get darker. The village was lost, thus Avlin did the only thing he could... and fled. He ran far, for days, until finally reaching a tavern near a large spring. He wasn't sure where exactly he was, as he was unfamiliar with this area. Nonetheless, he entered the tavern and bought a drink, and soon he was drunkenly retelling the tale to anyone who would listen. Upon the mention of the strange beast from the depths, an old man spoke. "Aye," He spoke, his voice weathered and low. "I know the monster of which you speak. And that's what it is y'know.” Avlin looked at the elder, who spoke while peering into his mug of ale.
"A monster."
