Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Khal's mouth opens aimlessly, and they twist, expecting to see some mysterious figure looming in the doorway behind them. Instead, only loose tent curtains ripple in the stagnant breeze. Floundering slightly, Khal turns back to the hag, aware of the eyes glinting back from within a cunning, wrinkled face, and gestures to themselves faintly.
The stranger crooks a finger with a coaxing flash of teeth.
“Uh, apologies, I didn't realise…” Khal clears their throat and lowers themself tentatively onto the cushion, neck craning forward slightly and peering into the face of the crone. The smoky, cloyingly floral scent drifting from the candles set upon the pitted table grows stronger and more oppressive in the back of their mouth. “Sorry, have we met before?”
The hag smiles blithely, “Of course not. But the village speaks.”
She turns to fiddle with an earthenware teapot set upon a low wood stove, embers popping quietly as she stirs the dubious concoction within. While she's preoccupied, Khal jabs the tip of their finger into a puddle of warm melted candle wax and pops it in their mouth. Lavender. Sage. Catswort. Beeswax. Completely harmless. Also disgustingly bitter. They hastily scrub the taste off their tongue with the back of one hand as the hag turns around, holding two lopsided cups of dark, steaming liquid. Khal straightens, clearing their throat and surreptitiously wiping their hand on the side of their trousers leg.
The crone comes to a rest, setting the cups down before regarding them once again. “I have only beheld maehr with the blood of clan Loa’chil to possess eyes of such a shade.” Khal’s gaze jerks upwards, and the woman grins with a mouth of half missing teeth, capped in dull gold. “What you seek is not so hard to glean.” She coos.
“So this road is really true, then, I haven't wandered astray?” Khal implores, forgetful of the candle flames as they lean precariously forward over the low table. The crone leans away slightly, sliding their tea with them. “Are there many of the clan? That you have seen, of course. I had wondered, supposing the time that has passed, if their numbers had grown since my mother's last recollection. The family tree I have is very rudimentary, but I have sought information on what disciplines they practise so perhaps you may have seen one using alchemical processes or botany-”
A cup interrupts them, steaming hot and forcing them to return to their seat as it is thrust towards their chest. The crone tuts, pursing wrinkled lips. “I believe I requested you tell me your story.”
Khal clasps the tea absently, fumbling for words. “Uh- there's not much to remark on.”
A scoff falls from the mouth of the old woman, “Yet you exist, therefore you possess a story.”
Sensing the impatience that had so far eluded them, Khal smoothed down the cloth on their lap with a reluctant sigh. “Well, my mother was born to clan Loa'Chil. I know not who my father is and my mother has long been estranged from her clan, so I have always been adrift from my history. What little I do know of my people is dark and doubtful.” They shrug, breathing in the vapour wafting off the tea.
They continue in a glib tone, swirling the liquid slowly and watching little brown particles drift about at the bottom. “I could not be with my mother any longer. She did not wish it and my desire for study outstripped our circumstances. So I came to seek out my clan and learn everything I could from them.” Finally picking out the funky smell coming from the tea - King’s Ivy - they looked up into the eyes of the hag, whites wide like a thin halo around the irises, lending her that beady, eager gaze that they now knew was a result of the tea she sipped upon.
“As I said, not much to remark on.”
The hag smiles and picks a shred of leaf out from between her teeth, “Ah. One who seeks knowledge and community.” A knife-sharp finger prods towards them through the air, and her eyes rove over Khal as she muses shrewdly, “Though you seem to have spent very much time on the road, my child, and yet the clothes you wear are from not so far a distance. Has doubt perhaps hampered you on this journey?”
“Uh- No.” Khal flushed under their dark skin, pointed ears pinkening. “I simply-” their mouth flaps uselessly for a moment, fingers drumming away at the tabletop. “I… like to take my time.” Coughing slightly, they avoided the knowing leer of the woman across the table. “And perhaps some provinces might invest in better signage. Just the opinion of your common traveller.” They gesture aimlessly with their cup and hastily gulp the contents down as fast as possible.
