Angiolini

"Ma'am, I didn't know you were here. My sincerest apologies, but... why would you want to hear my story?" Bart says while staring at her with suspicion for a moment.

"Look... I'll tell you..." Bart says as he sniffs, seeming to have caught a cold.

"But these things stay between us..." he says, pointing between himself and the old lady sitting on the wooden chair.

"So... me? My mother used to tell me I was born below deck. She used to make me believe that the ocean claimed me since I was born..." he says with a slight crack in his voice. "I was born near the frozen shores of the Adunian Realm..." Bart says, lowering his eyes a little.

"And just like that? I was a child of the 'sea'," he says, pausing briefly to ponder.

"Anyway... just like that, I became who I became. Learned everything there was at a young age but got into the wrong crowd while my mother was..."
Bart pauses for a moment and brushes his beard a bit.

"She'd be sitting here with us... right now," he says, inhaling deeply, talking slower and slower.

"After she passed, I did what I had to do... I can still smell their rotten corpses."

Bart suddenly widens his eyes. His hawk-like gaze focuses even more on the old lady, scrutinizing her behavior. He then calms down after seeing her just sit there, dull. He continues.

"When I was about twenty-something, I was already greying my hair."

Bart palms through his thinning, whitish hair.

"I joined up with a mixed group of, uh... Adunians and a few oddly trustworthy Orcs. We were known as 'The Black Cloud'. Small crew of ten people, but brutally fierce and loyal to each other. Until the end.  We had many successful ventures... All for coin and glory. But a few months ago... we got shipwrecked, badly... while we were on our most important venture yet. Not jewels, nor gold... something far worse."

Then there was a storm that came from the depths of hell... and these pretentious bastards?!"

Bart raises his sore, old voice a little and slams his fist on the table in anger.

"I warned them not to sail that night. There was something in the air... I could smell it."

He sniffs and looks at the dimly burning candles.

"But they wouldn't listen... We barely saved the ship from the storm. Lost most of our supplies, and a few Orcs and Adunians drowned,"

Bart says while palming his beard.

"They believed I put a 'bad omen' on them. Lunatics. Heretics. I warned them..."

Bart says, raising his hoarse voice again.

"They didn't want to believe me, so they left me on some forsaken island, left for dead!" Bart yells.

"So I started wandering the island... trying to get my hands on anything I could. It took me a year. A year, lady."

The old hag raises her eyebrows a bit as she listens.

"After surviving off rats, lizards, and fish... gathering wood..."

Bart suddenly points his wrinkled finger upwards.

"I never believed in Canonism. Only when I 'had' to. Some might call me an agnostic..." he says.
"But in the toughest year of my life? I believed the Old Gods were with me, guiding me through a storm."

Bart closes his eyes for a second, seemingly processing his past experiences. He slowly opens them again, looking a bit disoriented.

"I was able to make it out... with the help of the Old Gods, and... and my dear mother watching over my shoulder," he says, calmer and slower than his usual tone.

"Then, I picked the day. The day I was going to make it off that God-forsaken island. I had some supplies, a couple gallons of water. I thought myself ready.
And here I am, sitting in your little swamp." Bart says, mockingly.
"Those bastards thought I would give up this easily? No..."

Bart proudly pounds his chest.

"Anyway... you know a good fishmonger around these parts? It's been a while since I've eaten anything but God-forsaken rats and lizards."
Bart lightens up and smiles a bit, seemingly happier than before.

The old lady just smiles and nods.

"Don't wander too far around these parts..."  Says the old hag with an ominous voice.

Bart scoffs at her and leaves the tent.