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.”
An awkward silence filled the tent as shadows danced around the walls. Finally, the wood elf spoke, “Do you trust me? I cannot promise you the truth, only a story, is that what you wish?” In reality, the elf felt the old woman had good intuition, that compelled him to speak the truth. His eyes glittered as the cogs in his brain spun some half truth.
“I lived a humble life, but I always kept to myself. I wasn’t skilled in combat, but still I felt the urge to venture into the wilderness, and have some adventures of my own. I left my home, I’m sure I wasn’t missed, and aimlessly wandered the earth. I was attacked by orcs, they ruthlessly beat me half to death. They would have killed me, but a company of dwarfs heard my cries, and came to my aid. I wanted to travel with my saviors, but they ignored me. Said they were simply doing the right thing. Still I followed them. One day one of the dwarfs was brutally attacked, singled out by an unknown attacker. I saved his life while the others fought off the creature. It was only then I was accepted into their group. My friends led me to a dwarven city, where I lived with them for a while.
The elf paused long enough for the old woman to ask, “But what of you? Why are you here? What happened to your friends?
The elf’s face became guarded, and he blinked furiously, his eyes glittering silver. He tried for a smirk, but pain mutilated his smile. “I must go.” His once friendly voice hardened by regret.
