DrewCru

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?)) I take a seat, the old wooden stool creaking beneath me, and begin to speak, my words spilling forth as if the weight of your journey demands release. "No one has ever asked for my story, I...I'm from a place where everyone had the same story, no one dared the venture outside the culture our ancestors insisted on. But, you feel...familiar, and it makes me want to share." “It all began in the heart of the Deep Woods, a place where sunlight barely kissed the ground. I was born into the Valix family, dark elves who thrived in the shadows, masters of secrecy and silence. From a young age, I was taught to fear the world outside, told that it was filled with dangers beyond my understanding. My mother would often remind me, ‘The surface world is not for our kind.’ Yet my father, though now old and rarely speaking of it, once ventured beyond our borders and returned with stories that ignited my imagination. He discovered great people and incredible innovations—artisans crafting wondrous devices, scholars uncovering the secrets of the stars, and warriors standing for justice in a chaotic world. He found friendship among those who welcomed him, a sense of belonging in a place that thrived on openness and camaraderie. But when he returned to our clan, instead of being celebrated, he was shunned into silence. The elders could not fathom the allure of the surface world, seeing his tales as a threat to our traditions. They dismissed his insights and innovations, fearing that they might lead our kin astray. My father became a shadow of his former self, retreating into the silence of our home, his heroic experiences buried beneath layers of unspoken regret. As I grew, that legacy of silence gnawed at my heart and I yearned for my father's desire to be truly fulfilled, to travel the world once again. I had to get out, for myself and my father. One night, I summoned the courage to approach him. “Father,” I said, “I want to explore the world. I want to become just like you, no matter what the others think.” For the first time in what felt like ages, a smile broke across his weathered face, a glimmer of pride shining in his eyes. “You have the heart of an adventurer,” he replied softly. “Do not let our family’s fears bind you.” In that moment, his support transformed my resolve into a flame of hope. Together, we devised a plan for my escape. Under the cloak of darkness, he helped me gather supplies—my clothes, food, and a small trinket to remember home. a delicate silver compass, its surface etched with intricate designs. However, it had been broken during his journey, the needle forever stuck, unable to guide him or anyone else. To our family, it became a symbol of lost direction; to me, it represented the need to carve my own path. With each whispered word, he instilled in me the courage to embrace my destiny. On the eve of my 25th birthday, we slipped into the night, weaving through the familiar trees that had once felt like a cage. As we reached the borders of our realm, I carved a message into the bark of an ancient tree—a farewell to my family. ‘Thank you for your love and guidance,’ I wrote, ‘but I must seek my own path beyond the shadows. The world awaits, and I cannot remain a ghost among the living.’ With his hand on my shoulder, my father whispered, “Go. Carve your path, and shed light on your once shadowed self. For me, and for you."