Atheia

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.” I let out a sharp laugh, the kind that doesn’t sound friendly. “Expecting me?” I sneer, eyeing her wrinkled face and the yellowed teeth she’s so proud to show. The candles shudder at my tone, their flames twisting. “You’ve got some nerve calling this a town. Smells like something died in here a decade ago" I say, waving a hand through the murky air. “Looking at you now, I think I found the reason why.” Her lips peel back, part snarl, part smile. “What’s wrong, hag? Don’t like a little honesty?” I snort, kicking at the dirt near the hag’s cushion. “You want my story? Fine. Not like it’s a good one.” “I was born wrong,” I say. "Half elf, half dwarf, a mistake both sides wish they’d never made, and so my kin did what cowards always do, threw me out, and pretended I never existed.” I glance away, brushing a strand of hair over my ear before she can see it. “Been on my own since. Learned to fight, steal, talk my way out of things. Learned not to need anyone.” Then I smile, sharp and humorless. “Still, sometimes I hear their voices screaming abomination." My hand twitches toward my hood. “Guess that’s why I keep these damned ears covered. Don’t need another reminder of what I am.” I lean forward, voice dropping low. “That’s my story. So now you know, hag. "