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.”
"Expecting me?" Her eyes darted from the candles, then back to the old hag. "Of course you were..." Cephyra then beamed a toothy grin before sitting down on the cushions. "You're a saggy old lady missing teeth in a tent full of floating candles, I should have expected you expecting me least... Then again, I don't even know why I'm here other than feeling compelled to be here."
She tugged at the bear-pelt at her shoulders, drawing it closer to her chest. "Are you going to pour me tea or something?"
The old hag only smiled, her black beady eyes not meeting to her toothless grin. Cephyra picked her nose. "...Or do you want me to tell you my story first? Why do you even care?"
The old hag stayed smiling as she waited for the young Cephyra.
"Right." Cephyra drawled. "I'm assuming you want it from the beginning, then?"
Still, she gave no answer.
"You're fun at parties." Cephyra scoffed. She sat up straight, tugged at her bear-pelt once again, then began. "I was born at a... Very young age. Like most children, I was different, but not like the others. They said I was just like my brother... I never had a brother, but you know what I mean."
Cephyra placed both of her palms on her knees, breathing in the humid stench of the swamp. "My mother was a lesser noble of a defunct house, my father an ex-soldier... We lived in a secluded village in the woods. Life was fine. The last thing my father wanted to do was raise a harlot, so he taught me how to survive. He taught me how to hunt, how to fight, which berries will kill you, and which won't... Everything a person should know. My mother taught me how to cook, read, write, things you wouldn't find in a peasant. High-society stuff, I never found it interesting, but good to know, I guess."
She scratched the side of her cheek before letting out a sigh. "Then I went hunting by myself, one day, and I was..." She gripped her bear-pelt once again, boring her knuckles white. "Mauled, by Sable. I barely survived her, I had to stab her to death."
"My village found me, but I wasn't... I wasn't the same. It was as if our souls were conjoined with one another. All I have to remember her is by her pelt--" She wrapped it around herself like a cloak, concealing her torso in a dark shroud of fur. "--it never leaves me. Don't try anything."
"A few months after my recovery, a... A band of marauders destroyed our village. They killed my friends and my family... They should have killed me, but they didn't--instead, they held me prisoner. Blah, blah, blah, I spent my days eating mushy oatmeal and stale bread... Then I met my dear old friend: Isana Isard. A merchant fellow, we banded together and planned an escape! Now, here we are! Isana is out there trying to haggle down some goods to get us going. I'm not going to be here long... So, uh, yeah! That's my story! Are you going to give me some tea, now?"
The old hag let out a soft cackle.
"...Welp! See ya later!" Cephyra shot to her feet, walked forward two steps, spun, and walked back out.
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