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.”
"You speak as though my arrival has been foreseen through some divination..." *Radhruil would sit, gesturing rather limply.* "Go on... and do not waste my time."
The woman bent forward and spoke simply: "Iaundril."
Taken aback Radhruil grasped for his blade ever so slightly before calming his emotions. "My Father, that is of whom you speak." "Well, it has been some years since I heard that name uttered and yet..." *Radhruil paused.*
"I was born in the on the blessed isle, that of the Silver State. My mother, she died in my birth, yet I knew another mother who I disdained."
*Radhruil squinted,* "And why do you wish to know this, crone?" "Is this information you are thinking to pawn off like a spider?"
*Radhruil stopped abruptly in thought, nodding when he came to understanding* "My father was called the spider, yes, for he weaved a plot strong enough to see our people purified of the slop that polluted the lands..." "But they.... they are simply too ignorant to see we are failing... So I wander, and I wait."
Recommended Comments