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?))
Lyara steps cautiously toward the cushion, eyes flitting from the flickering candlelight to the crone’s knowing gaze. The air is thick with the scent of wax and something herbal—earthy, yet unfamiliar.
Hesitating for a moment, Lyara finally lowers herself onto the cushion, fingers tightening briefly around the strap of her satchel. “You’ve been expecting me?” Lyara asks, her voice steady but tinged with quiet curiosity. Lyara's gaze studies the old woman, taking in the deep lines of her face, the way the candlelight casts shifting shadows across her hollowed cheeks.
A soft exhale escapes her lips. “I don’t have much of a story,” she admits, though the words feel like a half-truth. “At least, not one I fully understand.” Lyara's eyes drop to her hands, fingers flexing as if trying to grasp something just beyond reach. “I grew up without a past, without knowing where I came from. And only recently…” She pauses, searching the crone’s expression for any sign of recognition. “Only recently have I begun to learn what I am.”
Leaning forward slightly, curiosity outweighs caution. “So tell me, then—who are you? And how did you know I’d be here?”
BACKSTORY:
Born without a name to call her own, Lyara was raised in the shadows of a world that never quite felt like mine. The village that took her in offered shelter but never answers. She grew up watching, listening—piecing together the stories of others while Lyara's remained a mystery.
For years, She was just another wanderer, a quiet observer of the world’s secrets. Then, everything changed. A chance discovery—something small, yet undeniable—revealed a truth she had never suspected. Lyara is not what she thought she was. The pointed ears, the uncanny senses, the quiet pull toward something greater… she is an elf.
But that only raises more questions. Who were her parents? Why was she left behind? And why does it feel like someone, or something, has been watching Lyara all this time?
Lyara doesn't have the answers yet. But she intends to find them.
