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.”
Elysia lowers her hood as she steps further into the candlelit tent, the swamp’s damp chill clinging to her cloak. She settles onto the cushion with quiet grace, her moss-green eyes flickering in the wavering light. “I come from Whisperfen Grove,” she begins softly, her voice carrying the cadence of wind through leaves. “I was raised in its mist and shadow, taught to listen to the spirits and move unseen among the trees. For years, I served as a scout—watching the borders, guarding the ancient woods that nurtured me.” Her gaze drifts to the hanging candles, their flames narrowing like watchful eyes. “But a blight has taken root in the heart of my home. Trees that once whispered wisdom now crumble into ash. The spirits cry out in pain.” She steadies her breath, a quiet resolve tightening her posture. “I left the grove to seek answers. A cure. A way to drive out the corruption. I will not return until Whisperfen breathes freely again.” She meets the hag’s gaze steadily. “That is why I’m here… whether your ‘expectation’ of me is omen or coincidence.”
