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?))
Richard lowered himself slowly, brushing mud from his pants before he sat. He hesitated—not from fear, but calculation. “My story?” he said, voice gravelly from travel. “It’s like the rest of this place—rotted at the edges.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes catching the candlelight. “I was born in a mining town three provinces east. Dirt poor, cursed before I could walk. When the mine collapsed, they said I should’ve died too. But I didn’t.”
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