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?))
Cerulen's eyes narrow a bit, wrinkling her nose at the smell of rotting wood, or perhaps at the sight of the hag. How unsightly people become, in their old age... Regardless, she strides across the room, metal heels clacking against the floorboards, and settles onto the cushion with a huff. The elf sets her blade in her lap, a bit defensively.
"Hag," she greets, tilting her head up a bit to look down on her. "I am Cerulen Akaltur, though surely you know this already. Though I grew in relative peace, I desired more from life than hunting deer and making flower crowns. Perhaps the 'aharel in me. So, I set off, out into the world in my youth, seeking meaning and... fun, I suppose." A grin spreads across her face, reminiscing fondly. "And I found it well! In battle, of course. In the rush of combat, and in the winding down afterwards, at taverns and inns."
The elf shifts a bit, uncomfortable on the small cushion, armor clanking. "Naturally, I had to make it my profession. One can scarcely afford even the cheapest brews should they have no coin, and becoming a brigand hardly appealed. It was only logical to become a sellsword, offering my services to those who desired them. I started small, of course, apprehending petty thieves in exchange for scraps from local guard. As my skill and experience grew, so too did my pockets and ambition!" She seems happy, at least. "And so, I simply had to return, seeking fresh glory in Azuras. I hope these lands don't disappoint."
