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?))
Lyrelith lowers herself onto the cushion with a flourish, back straight and chin lifted. “My story? Well, it hardly needs telling,” she begins, her lips curving into a sharp smile. "I am Lyrelith Aeri’thilln, purest of the Mali’thill, destined for brilliance in study and art alike. This dreary little town should be honored by my presence." "Burn it. Set the candles loose, watch them fall" a voice echoes through her mind as her smile flickers, for just a moment. She clears her throat, pressing on: “I came because the world deserves light, the true light of the Blessed Elves. And I intend to—" "—No, no, you came because you’re bored. Because you want to see them squirm. Isn’t that more fun?" Lyrelith’s fingers twitch against her knee, and her eyes gleam for a heartbeat too long. She exhales quickly, smoothing her robes, temporarily dropping previous pretenses. “—ahem. I need help.”
