Tynelynn

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.” Isilla slowly sat upon the cushion, her legs crossing and her gloved hands lazily resting atop of them, one of those hands arose to pull back the leafy hood upon her head, revealing her short black hair as the shadow is lifted from the mark of Cerunnos upon her face. "My name is Isilla. I am Mali'ame, or an elf of the forest. I recently came out to see the 'civilized' world and try to understand it, while learning more about myself I suppose. I yearn to venture out from my tribe, and so I am here in this.." There's a pause from this elven hunter, and a glance of emerald eyes around the tent. "Lovely place. My story is not one of the greatest of significance, I am a follower of the Mani, with much favor to Amaethon, and a hunter of my tribe." Two fingers arose to touch at the crimson tattoos under her eyes as she said that, that constant mark and reminder of what she is, and what she does for her people. "My mother was a warrior of Morea, and my father was a healer of Amaethon, an unlikely pair that produced me. I lay somewhere in-between their beliefs, I have been told." She shifts a little, and slowly sets that green, leafy hood over her head again, and dips her head to the old hag. "Thank you for the short respite, but I need to keep going for the time being. I will try to bring you back some game as my thanks."