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?))
"oh uh ok..." as their body starts tensing up. they eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation,
as they are about to speak she cuts him off, "wel-" "ah wait a second i have something for you... to help.. the nerves" as she turns her back she grabs a cup with a green ill color, the smell is strong but not putrid "now please drink up and start from the beginning" as he takes the cup you their body tenses up more with curiosity and fear, he looks up to notice an eerie yet calming smile on the crones face, as he begins to drink his body does become relaxed, but no effects of bad seem to be effecting him, as he sat back he begins telling his story...
"Well, it all started in celia'nor, a quiet but radiant city hidden deep within the Idol's Garden, a forest so ancient that even the stars have forgotten its true name. I was born beneath the singing trees, raised in treetop halls woven from vine and light, surrounded by stories older than memory.
Even as a child, I never quite blended in. While others dressed in forest tones, I was drawn to color—vibrant reds, glowing blues, sun-drenched golds. I stitched patterns into my clothes, tied feathers in my hair, and said it helped the forest speak louder. Some thought I was odd, others thought I was gifted. The elders often said I was moon-touched, born under a rare eclipse that marked me with quiet purpose.
I wasn’t a warrior. Not really. But I listened. To the wind. To the spirits. To the whisper of moss underfoot. I wandered far and often, bringing back strange stories, odd trinkets, and even stranger ideas. I didn’t know it then, but I was already searching for something beyond the trees.
Then came the silence. The spirits grew quiet. A heaviness crept into the woods like rot beneath bark. The elders spoke in hushed tones, afraid. I couldn’t sit still while the forest held its breath. So I left—willingly, curiously, maybe even a little fearfully.
Now I walk the world beyond celia'nor , following the pulse of the wild wherever it takes me. I wear my colors proudly, listen deeply, and speak when it matters. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for—but I know I’ll feel it when I find it.
And then I arrived here.
A swampy, sagging town that smells of rot and wet moss. Shacks leaning like tired bones. Mist clinging to everything like regret. I didn’t know why I was drawn here, but my feet carried me without question. Then I saw your tent. The candles floating, the silence inside. And when I stepped through the flap, there you were—waiting. You looked up at me, and you said, “It’s you. I’ve been expecting you.” You gestured to the cushion and asked me to sit. “Tell me your story.” So here I am. Telling you. That’s how I got to you"
