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?))
Omar surprised by her sudden shift of tone, once she recognized him, paused a bit. "..."
"If you recognize me, then I guess I'm at the right place." After the short pause, Omar replied with confidence, while maintaining eye contact.
"That you are." The beldam replied, with a slight smirk of amusement that would seem cocky or arrogant to an outsider. The old woman then gestured towards the cushion, once more.
"Oh! I forgot, my apologies." Although he tried acting stoic earlier with his reply, this doesn't change the fact that he is absent-minded towards the minor things in his every day. Omar hurriedly sat down on the cushion.
"Hehehe. So, you came here for my assistance, ey?" She laughed at his haste actions, but nevertheless began speaking, about the reason for his arrival.
"That's correct, are you willing to help me?".
"Who do you think I am?" She tilted her head, as she questioned him. "If you need help, it ain't gonna be for free." "...Wel-" Omar tried mustering a reply while checking his pockets.
"No, you ****!" She cut him off, spewing back with an insult. "Money is not what I'm after, I'll be heading to the grave soon, it won't do me any squat." She takes a breath before continuing. "What I'm really after is a good story, so how about you tell me yours?" She said while resting her face on her palm.
"Very well, if that's what you are after, then I'll provide my story for you." Omar starts reminiscing about his past, recalling all the events that led up to today's meeting with the old woman.
"I wasn't born to a particularly rich family, although we weren't poor either, we were a family of Qalasheen warriors. I've trained in the art of combat from a young age, I was joined by my siblings, all taught by our father. He was a very strict man, set a tight schedule, that we had to follow for me and my siblings. I always looked up to my father, always respected him, ... but the day he handed me his chestplate and arm armor, he said that his work was done. I didn't know it at that time, I was too excited with my new armor. If only I had realized sooner, looked closer at his expression, as he gave me his armor, he said that he needed to be somewhere, and told me to take care of my mother and younger siblings." Omar looks down while retelling his story to the crone. "That was the last time I saw my father. That was the last time I heard his voice. Two years have passed since then, and not a day of those two years that I don't remember him."
The old hag looks interested in the story, which is evident by her lack of blinking.
"I've been trying to find him ever since, I've traveled great distances in search of my father, I've met many people in my search, and one of them told me that you might have an idea, of where my father is." Omar clenched his fists, paused "..." and resolutely said, while simultaneously engaging eye contact with the old woman. "Now that I told you my story, are you willing to help me, in my search for my father?"
"Very well, you've amused me enough with your story." She stood up, using the cane at her side to assist her, she picks up a dusty paper that looks like a map. "If you wish to find your father, you can try goi-- END OF ROLEPLAY SCENARIO & BACKSTORY
(Note: I'm aware of rule 7 in roleplay rules. I will not do any RP or CRP with the chestplate until I have a mechanical representation of it in my inventory(Iron Chestplate). Once I do I'll either not wear it during CRP but have the overlay enabled, or in PVP I'll wear an iron chestplate.)
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