You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You 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?)) Piper collapses into the cushion, and nervously scans the tattered tent as a breeze from the opening gusts through, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck tingle in excitement, but also anticipation. Her mind raced, how has someone been expecting me? The thought made her a little giddy inside, considering she comes from practically nothing. She's a simple elven woman from a poor background, and she's still so young. The dimly lit tent doesn't give much to her eyes, and she traces back to the old woman before her, now leaning into her. She swallows, and starts, "My story.." she pauses for a moment, as her mind continues to go on. "... has only just begun." She pulls her oak lute, decorated with engravings of different symbols and names. "This is my story." She gestures to the lute, and plays a soft, rolling riff, as she speaks. "This was originally my fathers' lute, and he'd play it by my bedside as a small child. He was a much better songs-man than I, although I like to think I inherited his talents." She chuckled to herself, shaking her head a bit. "Apparently he played it for my mother and I as I was in her womb."
She looked down to the lute, watching her fingers graze over the strings gently, feeling the vibrations throughout her limbs. "When I was born, my mother did not make it," She furrowed her brow, and looked back up to the woman she was speaking to. "She gave me life, in return for her own," She spoke with rigor. "I will never forget her. Although I will never have looked upon her face, I know she is with me." Her words got tight, and it became hard to speak. "My father says she lives in the lute, she loved his songs, and they made a lot of beautiful music together..." She kept strumming, playing a heightened melody of the one previous, "I want to take her across the world with me, sharing stories and songs of hers, seeing parts of the world she's never seen.." She paused the strumming, and stood up from the cushion. "I must be getting on now, I still have to find a place to rest... I'm sorry to bore you with my little life, ma'am."
