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.”
Livira Nim raises a brow and her lips tug into a small smirk. "You have?" Her voice low and smooth, a sublte humour. She swiftly adjusts her cloak and gently settles herself down into the cushion. "You make it seem like I'm someone important," the young elf softly laughs.
"I am but a nobody. My father was a well respected man in my village, a hunter. I took after his level-headedness." She glances outside the tent. The air is thin and cold tonight, and her eyes gloss over with the memory. "My mother. My mother I cannot recall as easily. She would spend days shrouded away, giving her life away to a power she sought to control. She would return with blackened arms and a mind she left somewhere else. I know nothing of her... illness, my parents kept it hidden from me." She scrapes her gnawed nails agaisnt the carpet, rolling the fraying thread beneath her fingertips. "I have no clue what my mother was. Or who she was - I don't think she did either, really." Her keen eyes flick up to the hag and the scent of fresh moss after rain is sharper now. "What I do know, is that I want to be better than her. Know who I am. And I've heard you should be able to help me with that."
Her decisiveness fades into a lopsided smile and crooked teeth, "And if who I am is a simple farmer, then so be it."
