BlacksmithSamson

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?))

Example:

"Well, it is a bit of a long one to tell." The man coughs as he briefly takes a look around the tent. "I guess the best place to start is the beginning." The man grips the silver chain around his neck tightly as he begins his tale. "I was born and raised in a small town west of the Kingdom of Norland." "The town didn't really have a name as it was just a small settlement established by wanderers and refugees." "My father was a blacksmith who taught me the craft from a very young age. "My mother was a prospector who only taught me the basics on how to extract ore from a vein." "Granted neither of them were as skilled as the dwarves in their chosen professions, but they loved their work and me, so we weren't unhappy." "Upon reaching adulthood it was decided that I would go off and find my place in the world." "I was sad to go, but my parents had already purchased a mule and a small cart for the journey." "I travelled far and wide spending many months on the road plying my trade in any towns or settlements I came across, but none felt right to settle in and make my new home." "Many years later I heard rumors while stationed outside a major settlement. "These rumors spoke of a small village west of the Kingdom of Norland that had been destroyed by a roaming band of Orc marauders." "The Orcs had apparently ransacked the small village for supplies and burned everything else they couldn't take with them." "Saddened at the thought that my home might have been destroyed, I packed my things and decided to head home and see for myself." "I would later come to regret this decision, for it was my home that had been the village in question." "The Orcs left nothing, and when I say nothing, I mean not even the bodies." "All I found of my parents was a silver chain my father used to wear around his neck lying in the dirt by the ruins of the small shack I used to call home." "I spent a few hours gathering stones from the foundations of the homes and carried them into the forest." "I found the old oak tree I used to play by when I was a child and placed two stones by the trunk next to one another." "I engraved my father's and mother's name in the stones and made two small burial mounds from the stones I had gathered." "When I finished, I placed my father's silver chain around my neck and prayed." "It's been many years since I buried my parents." "I have still been looking for a place to settle down." "I headed south for I didn't wish to be close to the remnants of my home." "I still ply my trade on the road or outside small towns and villages." "That's my story, one of hopeful beginnings and sorrowful goodbyes." "I hope I will find some place to call home soon, for I fear the road will soon be the only place I belong."