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?))
He stared at the woman for a second before deciding to trust her and sit down. "Er... well I'm Freyr. I'm an elf, as you can see..." He raised a hand to stretch his ear out to show it a little clearer."I'm from Nevaehlen... and uhhh... sigh Let me think a little..." He takes a few moments to put together a little explaination, his mind is usually a little foggy with strangers. "I ran into the forest to find these uhh... berries, and then I got lost, somehow... Well not exactly... but I just decided to venture out a little, and while I was running through the forest, I ended up breaking my bow... how? I have no idea myself even... heh... sorry- So... I just kept going out a bit further to find a place to repair this thing... I can use a bow.. not exactly fix a broken one.. Do you know if there are any bowyers around here? I doubt they'd be able to fully restore this thing... but surely the outside world would have some skilled bowyers right?" As he spoke, he placed his bow onto his lap, the stave was split at the centre, and it was all hanging from the string. Freyr sat a little still with a slight smile on his face while waiting for an answer.
