NeonArtemis

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?)) Ruvaen raises an eyebrow, attempting to look haughty and above her current surroundings, though there is an underlying comfort here, as if she is used to being less than comfortable. She gingerly sits down on the cushion, miscalculating the thickness of the cushion and landing with a very undignified *oof*. Sniffing in an attempt to save face, she sets her face into an impassive mask. "My story, crone, is that I have been sent to this, hovel, by my father as an envoy for his business," to call this a half-truth would be more than generous, "now, why don't you tell me what I need to know before I catch something in this gods forsaken town." Ruv's eyes flick around to the shabby interior of the shack and feels a shudder run up her spine. Were anyone to ask as to why, she would say that she is naturally opposed to anything less than the finest of things in life. In reality, it's because this building is startling familiar to the shack that Ruv and her mother lived in before her mother's untimely death. Five years spent in a rotting hovel before she was approached by a dark elf man, the first person she's ever met that looks like her. For a very brief moment, she thinks she's going to be spirited away to lands untold and riches uncountable, until her father sends her to an orphanage, because what right did she have to think she was worthy to be raised alongside his legitimate children? His fully elven children. She shakes her head to keep her mind from wandering and focuses back on the old woman, hoping to get the information she needs. She may not be a true Heiran, but she'll be damned if anyone else knows that fact.

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?)) Ruvaen raises an eyebrow, attempting to look haughty and above her current surroundings, though there is an underlying comfort here, as if she is used to being less than comfortable. She gingerly sits down on the cushion, miscalculating the thickness of the cushion and landing with a very undignified *oof*. Sniffing in an attempt to save face, she sets her face into an impassive mask. "My story, crone, is that I have been sent to this, hovel, by my father as an envoy for his business," to call this a half-truth would be more than generous, "now, why don't you tell me what I need to know before I catch something in this gods forsaken town." Ruv's eyes flick around to the shabby interior of the shack and feels a shudder run up her spine. Were anyone to ask as to why, she would say that she is naturally opposed to anything less than the finest of things in life. In reality, it's because this building is startling familiar to the shack that Ruv and her mother lived in before her mother's untimely death. Five years spent in a rotting hovel before she was approached by a dark elf man, the first person she's ever met that looks like her. For a very brief moment, she thinks she's going to be spirited away to lands untold and riches uncountable, until her father sends her to an orphanage, because what right did she have to think she was worthy to be raised alongside his legitimate children? His fully elven children. She shakes her head to keep her mind from wandering and focuses back on the old woman, hoping to get the information she needs. She may not be a true Heiran, but she'll be damned if anyone else knows that fact.