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Had you told Arylla that the sopping wet adventurer that she just watched traipse into town was potentially the most important person to ever enter this small village, she would probably believe you. Admittedly, this is because the small village had never seen anyone of higher importance than a messenger for the lowest rank of nobility, which was not a difficult ceiling to surpass.
Arylla had been sitting on the outdoor patio of the village's tavern and inn, thankfully under the cover of overhang from the outpouring tears of the gods that rained down from above. She enjoyed watching the various people move through the village, both traveler and local alike.
As the rain poured from overhead, the muddy streets (if they could even be called streets) were largely empty, except for the singular figure that had just stepped into town. This figure wore a nondescript leather poncho over both themselves and the pack they carried, an effort that did nothing to protect them from the rain. Their boots seemed better adapted for the mud, as they managed to walk through the slippery street towards the tavern without a hint of losing balance.
As they climb the steps, water dripping from them like they were themselves a raincloud, they turn to Arylla and ask, "You wouldn't happen to have a fire spell? I don't want to track all this wet inside."
Arylla chuckles, but shakes her head. "Sorry, kid. I've got a towel, though," she says, and turns to dig through her pack—she herself had recently returned to town from a short hunt and hadn't bothered to bring her pack back upstairs to her room—pulling a basic brown towel from the bag and tossing it to the traveler.
"Thank you kindly," they say softly.
As they take off their skysoaked poncho and hang it over the patio railing, Arylla feels confusion and intrigue hit her like a ram running through her chest. The traveler's voice has the accent and timbre of a high elf, but their appearance is strikingly wood elf, with a few oddities. Their ears, for one, are long and nearly horizontal, a trait more specific to high elves (and goblins, for that matter) than wood elves, whose ears are more like pointed human ears. Their eyes, for another, are of neither wood nor high elf commonality, with black sclera not dissimilar from many tieflings, and pale green irises. Their skin tone is nearly that of a human from the north, pale and easily freckled, with the slightest green tint indicative of wood elves, but something was... off about it.
The traveler notices Arylla's staring, and gives a curious look. "Is something wrong?" they ask in that strange accent of theirs.
Arylla frantically shakes her head. "No, my apologies. I was merely trying to discern your origin, and struggling a bit."
Something about her words make the traveler tense up ever so slightly. "What motivated you to study me such?"
Were Arylla a fool, she would attribute the tense to the chill of the wind. But Arylla is no fool. This traveler is running from something, and that something frightens them. So Arylla smiles gently in an attempt to show she is no threat, and says, "I am too curious for my own good, is all. I enjoy people watching, trying to guess what stories they might hold from the subtle traits about them. I assure you, I am no threat, merely overly observant."
Thankfully, that seems to relax the traveler, as they pass the towel back to Arylla with a quiet word of gratitude. "I appreciate your kindness. Might I ask your name?" But before Arylla can open her mouth to answer, the traveler cuts her off, correcting, "to know, not to have."
Arylla smiles. "I take it you came through the woods in the west. Encountered many tricky fae on your journey?"
The traveler frowns. "Something like that."
"Well, my name is Arylla. May I know yours?"
A moment of hesitation passes, the traveler seeming to ponder something before answering, "Luna. Pleased to make your acquaintance, and thank you again for the towel."
"Don't mention it," Arylla answers with a dismissive wave. "Should probably get inside, easier to dry off in a room of your own."
Luna nods. "Yes. I'm sure I'll see you around, then?"
"Who knows?" Arylla answers with a chuckle. "The spinsters of fate are strange and unpredictable."
With a laugh and a wave, Luna steps inside the tavern, leaving Arylla to wander her mind's halls, speculating and theorizing about the strange traveler.