Seabasstian

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?)) The seeping scent of rotting wood and wet moss is only a knife in Fel'lheios' heart as he wanders in. Apprehension clouds his face more than the locks of hair in his face, twisted and tangled from a lack of care. He sits, like the weight of every decision leading up to this moment was a boulder he couldn't keep rolling uphill. "I'm lost," Fel admits quietly. The woman may be a hag, a stranger, but the tears in his eyes are not kept from her. In a way it is cathartic, he couldn't lean into his mother's arms, or be scolded by her. To be told sternly that he should have listened, followed the rooted path before him that so many tended so dutifully. So the hag will have to do. "I thought I knew better, was ready--" head in his hands, he shrinks into himself with disappointment, "but I know now I was just impatient, stupid, and I don't know how to fix any of it." "Lost," he says again, softer, like the admission of it a second time could shatter him. "I just wanted to see more. Know what was really beyond the thickets and tree lines, but for what? Being lost and missing home?" If home was even a place, anymore, that is. Fel's deep green eyes, filled with stress and tears, turn to the old hag with silent plea at first. "How do I go back? Or at least, start going back in the right direction?"