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 dark, pointed ears protruding out of either side of the mans squared face twitched at the scratchy, worn voice of the hag. Unpleasant, utterly diabolical as it raked across his sensitive eardrums. Yet a grin continued its way to part the plaster-cast mold his face was. His cheeks wrinkled like cracked porcelain, blue eyes narrowing as clear crows-feet pressed into the corners. He has been through worse, and he has surely put on a much more disingenuine play earlier in his life. "Someone discuss me in your presence before?" Genvaeri's nose scrunched as his tone dripped in playful self-centeredness. There was no pause for her to answer even if she wanted to. "Surely I know not of you from someplace else..."
He didn't mind the cushion a second glance, allowing himself to sink right into it right as she permitted him. A low breath escaped him, a knee creating a slight popping noise as he drew his legs in to cross him. The years of constant adventure had clearly worn out the dark elf. "Nevertheless!" He spoke with a slight pout to his words. The elder got him pondering about his story now, scraping and wringing out the juices of his mind to make so many years somewhat coherent. His eyes drifted off to the side, tongue pressed into the side of his cheek. "Well, all stories begin with the first chapter. 'suppose that would be my childhood!" He loosely waved a hand out in front of himself, twisting at the wrist slowly. "My parents were harsh, traditional. I was the eldest. You know how the first litter always bares the brunt of the coldest winter, there was little embrace to keep me warm." He turned his head away, eyes locked on the illusion of movement outside of the smokey-scented tent they found themselves in. The wind, what a trickster. "It wasn't the life I felt I was owed." He continued on. "My siblings came later in life, they were on their own path to maturity by the time I decided I had withstood enough."
It was in a sudden that his mouth began to feel dry. A sense of regret had sucked him dry of such vital nutrients. He let out a defeated breath, his hands knotting together so he could toy with his bulbous knuckles. "I cut my hair as if I was in exile, that's how it had felt. In an instant I left it all behind." His fingertips shot out as if to display his false innocence. His head snapped back to the hag that he hadn't realized he had gotten so comfortable chatting with. "I did return, I am no monster. My skin was no tougher than it was at my first breath." Genvaeri let out an airy, two-note chuckle. His shoulders squared as he leaned back, a poor attempt to correct his posture. "I fear I was simply too late... To late in the moment." It was clear the elven man was just attempting to reassure himself. "I've discovered so much in my absence, including such an innate desire to live through each new little life lesson with those I am so closely bonded to. By blood. It's thicker than water, they say. Without water we wither, I fear I am doing the same without my kin." A hand moved up to idly itch at the little stubble he was able to grow, a monumental achievement for most elves. "My siblings were gone, oh but far from forgotten."
With that he shot upwards into a stand. "Which is why the road forward is so tempting, my fair lady." He reached forward to cup one of the hags hands in his own, feinting a polite kiss on her knuckles. In reality he hadn't dared placing his mouth to the wrinkled skin. "And for that reason I must be off! Take care. I wish you life and prosperity!" Without a further explanation, he was ducking out of the tent and off on his own once again. Most oftenly he would linger behind, sewing whatever information the lady was willing to dump onto him into a quilted map of hints. But today he felt closer than ever...
The dark elf's words were riddled with deceit, whether it was found tonally or factually he still always managed to carry it. To catch it would be the most dangerous game you could play on his terms.
