WhillOfTheWhisps

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?)) "You know me, ma'am?" I raise an eyebrow, but the hag stays silent. "Very well." I sigh, sitting before her. "I was born and raised in Storheim, between Bekkrheim and Jolslatra. For 15 years, I worked on our farm, working the nutrient-rich volcanic soil growing various crops. Our family was employed by both peoples, and we exported our goods often, sometimes by sea." I take a deep breath. "One evening, a massive storm rose on the coast of Jolslatra as we were pulling toward dock. A strike of lightning hit our boat; more specifically, my father." I try to push back the awful memory. "I watched as his body slumped to the ground, arcing with tendrils of light. My mother rushed to his side, and the current flooded her body." I shake my head. "Both my parents dead, I was left alone on our boat, still loaded with potatoes and beets. We were three miles still away from port, and now I was left with my parents' bodies with no help. I didn't know how to steer a boat, and the sails were quickly shredded asunder." I rub my right ear out of memoral habit. "During my several days on our ship, a stowaway wasp bit my ear. As allergic as I am, the bite permanently disfigured my ear." "My body, of course, suffered from the bite, and I was pallid for an age. I inevitably passed out from the pain and poison. When I awoke, I found myself on the far reaches of Jolslatra, inside a tent. I was lucky to be found by a group of travelling Farseers, seeking fossilised herbs in the volcanic rocks. They nursed me back to health, and over time, I grew intrigued by their adeptness at their nature. One shamaness, whom I often called my second mother, raised me over the course of three years. I never learned her secrets. After her death of old age, I grew more curious about the world around me. That was when I heard of Aevos. A land of promise, in my eyes; I've been searching for a year. Turns out it's hard to find a land without charts or skills." I sigh. "I hope this is the place."