Bluesyr

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?))

Syra's eyes dart around the small tent, she finishes stepping inside and cautiously sits down on the cushion.

"Where to start? My mother was a baker's daughter who dreamed big. Which of course led her to marry my father, a soldier in a backwater town." She let out a sarcastic huff. "She always said that writing was a waste of time when I needed to know how to run a business. Oh, Writing is what I want to do. Tell the stories of those who have no voice y'know? Once I helped an old man reunite with his daughter with just a letter. It's truly lovely, the power of words yeah?" My mom? She passed a few years back, it put a dent in me and my father's relationship. Decided to leave home once he started lecturing me about marrying some man he's known a bit. So here I am, trying to find my way. I was thinkin' maybe I could find some tavern to work in? Adventuring folk always seem to have a story to tell, maybe I could even get in on some of the action. My father did actually tech me how to use a knife. Mostly to help him skin animals he caught.