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?))
I look down and just breathe for a second, collecting my thoughts. "I come from a small village on the base of a mountain. Growing there with just my father the town guard, following his way of life to be just like him, my idol. But one day..." Its clear just how shaken up I am from remembering this, my fingers shaking as I clasp my hands together to keep my composure. "One day when the town was still preparing for the harvest season my father and saw smoke in the distance and heard the galloping of horses. Soon a large group of people we have never seen before crested a hill in the distance shouting and hooting waving swords and axes in the air. That's the day when I lost my father, lost the whole town." At this point I have an ager in my eyes, looking in the distance with a thousand yard stare. My hands unclasp as one subconsciously goes towards the axe on my belt. "I have since traveled the lands looking for greater challenges to become stronger, searching for the ones who have killed my people seeking vengeance for them all using what my father has taught me."
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