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.”
Jon glanced around the tent, his eyes sharp and wary. He spoke quietly, the words heavy with memory. His village had been raided—no, not just raided, it had been at war. But somehow, this town looked even worse than the wreckage he’d left behind.
He was born a bastard to a noble house, never meant to carry its name. His father, though, had always believed in him—believed he could still do what was right. The rest of the family never saw it that way. To them, Jon was a stain, a reminder of shame. They cast him out, and he learned to live with the weight of their rejection.
He turned that pain into purpose, spending every waking moment training with the knights of his village. He had no claim to command, no title, but he worked harder than any of them. He trained until his arms ached and his hands blistered, until he could barely lift a sword.
Then the war came. His father, honorable but not without enemies, faced the wrath of an old rival. The fighting was fierce; the knights and villagers gave everything they had. Before the final battle, Jon’s father sent him to gather help from nearby towns. But when Jon returned, he found only ruins and the dying.
He found his father among them, bleeding out on the field. Jon held him close, tears cutting through the dirt on his face. His father’s final words were a whisper—“Go on, son. Make me proud.”
Jon stayed there until the light left his father’s eyes. Now, sitting in the dim glow of the tent, he told his story to the one who would listen—his voice steady, but his heart still somewhere on that battlefield.
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