Auramagpie96469

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?))

You remember me, old crone.
Whether I remember myself is a question I will answer;
I never knew where I was born, as a violent conflict led to my family leaving our homeland - fleeing to a coastal city in the south of this godforsaken land. The moment I could leave home I did, getting a job in the army and learning practical skills rather than getting an education in silly ideals that wouldn't put food on the table. Soon our first conflict came, and I began to be pushed further and further in the campaign - killing more and more, until I couldn't take it.

Sighs, a heavy sigh of pain

The general, he didn't care. My friends were hungry to kill, and many of them fed the hunger of our enemies as defeat after defeat led to the campaign failing and in the death of our general.

An air of relief seems to fill the room.

I sure wish he died sooner, because after the war I used my salary to begin building a boat to get home - to find where we were truly meant to be.
Whether I did or not I'll never know, since I was attacked by pirates and taken captive for 8 years on their shoddy vessel in their vain quest for money to satisfy their greed. I was only freed when most the crew had gone to a nearby pub to gamble away their riches in a vain attempt to double their money, so me and a few fellow captives broke the feeble bars that held us and attacked the remaining crew - sinking the ship and taking their supplies for our own. Most of them went their separate ways, but me and three others decided to set off to find a new home. 

"But do you not want to find your homeland?" - the old crone questions, intrigued by the story of the gruff man.

No, I made my own. We decided to journey away from all this pointless conflict and stupidity to forge our own path, so we began to trek for three weeks using only the provisions from the shipwreck and what we could forage along the way. Eventually we stumbled upon the Mountain. It was cold, it was harsh. And it would become my homeland. The four of us began to harvest what we could, and built a home - when a renegade group of dwarves attacked us; while we valiantly fought them 4 to 34, I lost an eye and two of my friends lost their lives. 
 

His fist hits the table, and a crunch can be heard 
It was just me and Erik left, however not long after we recieved a letter from a powerful dwarf claiming that we had taken his land and unlawfully killed dwarves on his soil. Enraged, we went to seek an audience with this 'dwarf lord' to get an agreement. The only consolation we got was medical assistance (including a nearly identical glass eye)and three weeks more in provisions. Erik wasn't satisfied, and neither was I, but we continued - embittered by the cold, and hardened by the cold, hard peaks of the mountains. We trekked and trekked, and eventually settled into a small hamlet in the mountains.

We both then decided to become mercenaries for hire, and later Erik would give his life for the company - leaving me to inherit all of his possessions, and leading to my departure from the hamlet.
With few supplies, I had to stop somewhere. And this was where I stopped, at your house Mrs Crone. 

"Let me boil you some warm water then and get you some food, you must be weary from your long adventure”