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?))
Gonnar pauses slighty, the lantern at his hip casting its orange glow against the damp walls of the tent. His jaw tightens, and for a moment he only listens to the crackle of the flames of the candles. He steps forward and lowers himself stiffly onto the cushion.
"My story begins not in this swamp, but on a coast where the sea eats at stone and men die with steel in their hands. I was a boy when my father pressed a lantern into my palms and told me to run, while our home burned down. I fled into the night, with only this flame as my kin. That spark has never left me."
He glances down at the battered lantern, stroking the stained glass.
"I am Gonnar Eldbaraur. I walk where the air is cold and hearts colder, carrying the All-Father's flame. I bring warmth and warning to the heretic. You, old one, say that you have been expecting me. Tell me, what did your fire whisper, that you would know my face before it ever crossed your sight?"
Gonnar leans forward, waiting for her reply as the lantern's glow is reflected in his eyes.
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