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.”
((How do you respond?))
Example:
(He slowly walks into the tent, puts his belongings next to the cushion and sits on it slowly, clears his throat and begins to speak)
"My name is Brechet, and I hail from the far realm of Shäelheim —a land of high peaks and bitter winds, where the nights are long and the hearts of men oft grow colder than the stone beneath their feet.(He takes a deep breath, clenches his fist and continues speaking) I was born of no mother’s embrace, nor father’s hand; their faces are as lost to me as smoke in the wind. It was my grandsire who raised me—an old tailor of some repute, whose hands could breathe life into thread, whose eye could see the shape of a man ere the cloth touched his skin."
"He was a hard man, aye, but not unkind, at least not in his own manner. He taught me the ways of the needle, the language of stitch and seam, though my heart yearned for little of it.(He paused, his gaze drifting toward the floor)While he plied his trade,I slipped away into the alehouses and low halls of our town, where song and drink flowed freer than duty. For this, he oft took belt or rod to me, and his tongue could flay flesh from bone when wrath took him. Yet still, he taught me."
"And I, in spite of myself, did learn."
"It was upon a storm-marked night, when the sky was rent with wind and wail, that I last beheld his house whole. I had gone, as I oft did, to the tavern to drown my guilt in the bottom of a mug. (his voice starts to crack)Then came the shouts—cries of alarm, of fire. I stumbled to the street and saw the flames already risen high, dancing like demons upon the roof of his humble dwelling."
"I ran, gods know I did. But the fire had grown wild, and a crowd pressed in, holding me back. I could scarce see the door for the smoke. I watched it burn, unable to draw near, and when at last the embers died, they drew his body forth—charred, broken, yet still him. His tailor’s shears were clutched in his blackened hands, as if he meant to stitch the fire itself closed."
"I knew not what to do. I wandered like one lost in fog, until the morn, when I sold what remained—the shop, the tools, the memories. I boarded a vessel and sailed hence, across sea and silence, until I came unto this land—Aevos."
"Now I walk with no name save his upon my shoulders, and no path save the one I must forge.(He looked through his belongings) The craft is still with me—though I fled it, though I cursed it. And mayhap, in time, I shall earn the title of tailor, not by blood... but by deed."
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