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.”
Nez’s eyes flutter, and his face contorts as he mulls over how he’ll respond."...Yez, yez, mi story iz I'z comin fro mi hom afta nos plaze ta goez.” He tilts his towards the ground and meekly continues “I'z ta shaw ta othas tad I'z strong enuf ta makez mi wayz back ta mi kin..."
Fists clenched tightly, small blood drops form from his sharp nails pricking his palm from the shame he feels. "I'z do be big, but mi bone meat iz liddle. Mi goalz to findz a plaze fo mi ta shaw mi grit and wizdom, wif tose two I will be strong."
He tilts his head back up to look towards the woman in the tent, finding the resolve in him to speak with some courage. "Mi timez ta go 'n' git on wif ta rest of mi story"
Nez begins to turn using the heel of his left foot and walks to the tent's exit, not before looking back once more to the person who, for the first time, asked for his story. He lifts the fold to the outside and now that smell of rotted wood and wet moss smells sweet
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