Olimone

Class: Female, Elf

Hey! Swamp gnomes! How’s it going?

“Hey! Swamp gnomes! How’s it going?” it is an elf woman of unusually athletic build, wearing worn leather armor with her bow and a nasty orc sabre lying right next to her. She too is covered with muck from head to toe. A fat rabbit is turning on a spit above the fire…

“I have been watching you for some time. You are strangers around here, aren’t you? So am i, really. Olimone is my name, with a short o and long e. I am from Thorwal and have been fighting that muck all day myself. Are you going to Phexcaer? Good luck! If they don’t rob you of everything down to your skivvies, they’ll screw you but good, mark my words. What’s that you say? Strange words from an elf? Well, that’s the way you get wandering around with crazy humans all the time.”

You talk for a while, pleased to have the unexpected company, but in the end you are overwhelmed by sleep. When you wake up the next morning, you feel a wondrous strength within you. I guess that rabbit was prepared with more than just regular herbs and spices. The strange elf is gone, but there is a parchment sticking out from [NAME]’s pack:
“Watch out when you leave Phexcaer. The orcs are massing northwest of the town, the world ends beyond Groenvelden (at least for children like you), and the Bodir road isn’t what it used to be either. The river has flooded its banks in some places enough to turn the land into a fen for miles. I wrote down a recipe for small scratches (you know, ogre blows and such), so you are not all that helpless. Who knows, we might see each other again in Thorwal some day. Olimone”

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