ATL4S_

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?))

Atlas steps further into the tent, feeling the weight of the old hag's gaze upon him. The flickering of the floating candlelights mildly shines light upon her face, allowing him to make out the details of what seems to be an old woman, clad in black robes and with a face full of wrinkles and moles. With cautious curiosity, Atlas lowers himself into the cushioned seat, trying to get comfortable amidst this somber, perhaps mystical atmosphere.

"I apologize for startling you." He says respectfully, with a voice lower than his usual tone. "I am a wanderer, from a far off land. I was drawn into this town by the tales of its secrets and whispers of an old wise woman. One able to provide guidance to lost souls such as myself." 

Pausing for a moment, Atlas reaches into his leather coat's breast pocket, pulling out a small bundle of aromatic leaves tied by a twine. "I was told this would be a worthy offering for such a woman, and to bring it here as payment for her guidance." He places the bundle on the floor in front of the woman, using his free hand to unbind the twine allowing the leaves to spread open, releasing their aroma. Atlas ponders, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"As for my story, it's one of trials and tribulations. I was born and raised in the teat of a humble family in a land far away, one plagued by conflict, famines, sickness and the like. I grew up watching my neighbors, family and friends pay the price for deeds they weren't responsible for. I watched my father be conscripted into the local lord's levies and go off to war to never come back, I watched my older sister succumb to illness, and my mother, unable to take care of our homestead by herself, be taken by raiding parties as a trophy of war, to never be seen again." Atlas stutters near the end of his sentence, the corners of his lips drop down slightly, accompanied by a blank stare. In a flash, he shakes his head as he clenches his fist, blinking rapidly, he meets the old hag's gaze with his own.

"I grew up an orphan of war, taken in as a farmhand by the surviving families, I was taught how to read and write, and with time I learnt to defend myself. I joined a mercenary band on my 18th winter." He takes a quick break, chuckling under his breath. "I guess you could call it ironic, becoming a pawn in the same game that ruined me and those I loved. But it was the only way I could make a life for myself. With time I got tired of it, I lived frugally, barely wasting the coin I earned just to be able to finance this pilgrimage. I despised those men, most were ruthless savages barely able to control themselves. But on the battlefield I had to depend on them, and they depended on me. I lost myself along the way. And I request your guidance to help me get back on the path I was destined to be in. Whatever it is. Perhaps in sharing my story you will be able to help me discover what my true purpose in these lands is." He leans forward, his voice filled with anticipation. Staring deeply into the hag's eyes, he waits for an answer.