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?))
I stare at the old hag and finally muster myself to sit down. "It has been some time since I have been back here." I start with, "You are a new face among these parts but I will gladly share my story with you. I come from a land of honor and warriors. All my life I have been fighting intruders who have attempted to cross our borders. It all started with me, my older brother, younger sister, and mother and father who happily shared a peaceful cottage on the shorelines of a beach. I was raised to become a warrior through vigorous training, constant workouts, and plenty of meals," I reflect for a moment, "Growing up, I dealt with being in the constant shadow of my father and brother who were strong warriors in their own right. We would train, play rough, eat, sleep and repeat for most of my childhood which taught me to be strong and self-dependent as my confidence in my ability to fend for myself outside of my home was high. After I turned 20, I moved away to Norland to start my own adventure." I stand up and the old hag smiles and sends me on my way.
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