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.”
Faelwyn set her staff beside her, its carved wood flickering in the campfire’s light, and sat cross-legged on the mossy ground.
“Well, I could use a good rest!” she said with a calm, lively smile, her voice steady yet buzzing with excitement. The old lady across the fire, her face carved with years of Almaris tales, leaned in, eyes bright. Faelwyn’s ears twitched at a distant owl’s hoot, her gaze drifting to the stars.
“I grew up in Haelun,” she started, voice warm like the fire’s crackle. “Family was happy tending groves, braiding vines. Me? I’d stare past the treetops, itching for far-off places, secret paths.” The old lady chuckled.
“Bet you drove ‘em mad, always ready to dash.” “Oh, I did!” Faelwyn grinned, leaning forward. “At sixteen, I told my ma,
‘I’m off to see the world.’ Slung a bag, grabbed this staff, and left. She hugged me tight but knew I was gone.”
“You just up and went,” the old lady said, stirring the embers. “Where’d you roam?” “Haelun, first,” Faelwyn said, her tone steady but eager.
“Fog so thick it eats your shadow. Found an oak grove, branches like a hall. Slept there, wind whispering. Then, one night near Haelun’s border wolves, a pack, eyes like fire. Scrambled up a tree like a scared kitten!” The old lady cackled, clapping.
“You, stuck in a tree?” Faelwyn’s laugh was soft, collected. “Didn’t sleep ‘til dawn. Taught me to stay calm, even when my heart’s hammering. Kept me steady through swamps, over ridges. Every step’s my dream coming true.”
“Got a wanderer’s spirit, Faelwyn,” the old lady said, grinning. “Where you headed now?” Faelwyn’s eyes gleamed, fixed on the stars. “Abla, down in the lowlands. Heard there’s good folk there, kind hearts. Figure I’ll see if the stories hold up.” The old lady nodded, poking the fire.
“Abla’s got a warm hearth, or so they say. You’ll fit right in.” “Hope so,” Faelwyn said, her smile serene yet alive, her silver threaded cloak shimmering in the firelight.
