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.”
The tall dark elf lowers herself onto the cushion with a lazy grace, sea boots still damp, a crooked smile playing on her lips. Candlelight catches in her teal eyes as she tips an imaginary hat. “Heh… figured an old crone like you’d have eyes sharper than a harpoon. Name’s Anlusyne Xigato, or that’s what I tell port masters when I don’t feel like paying docking fees. Truth is, I ran from a house so rich in shadows they tried to drown me in them. Not my kind of family. So I stole a map, a blade, and a ship that wasn’t nailed down, and I chased the Seven Seas like they owed me coin.
She leans in, voice smooth as oil on water.
Storms took the ship. Monsters took the crew. Luck—bad and worse—took the rest. One wrong current later and I washed up in this place. Smells like rot and secrets. Feels like home, in the worst way.
But don’t let the sailor’s tale fool you, grandmother. I live by my wits now—cards, contracts, and a little silver tongue. If there’s treasure to “recover,” curses to lift for a modest fee, or fools with heavy purses and light sense… I’m your girl.
She flashes a charming, predatory grin, tapping a finger against her chest.
“So that’s my story. A runaway elf, drowned sailor, reborn swindler. Now…”
Her eyes narrow, amused.
“You said you were expectin’ me. That usually means trouble—or profit. Which is it?”
