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?))
I sit down and rub my chin, "Where should I start? I joined the local town militia at an early age, worked my way through the ranks... Saw some good people die, even more get crippled or disfigured. Eventually, I left the military when my time was up." I look at the hag again. "I decided I would do something less... violent; so I took up fishing for a while, but it just wasn't any fun, or maybe I got restless... I really don't know or remember." I shift on my hard stool. "I eventually started meeting up with other veterans and found out the local weaponsmith needed an apprentice, so I volunteered to assist. I did not request payment, but he paid me pretty well," I chuckled. The hag, looking at me, asks "why make weapons?" "I guess you can't take the soldier out of the man. I was disabled from the military, so I figured I would do my part for the soldiers still fighting. I knew my way around a forge and was pretty good with the hammer." I pulled out a gold-plated dagger I had made and it gleamed in the dim light. "It was my way of paying the Army back for taking care of me. After several years, the Army got their own weapon suppliers, foreign ones, if I had to guess, and we just couldn't keep up. We ended up closing shop and a few years later the old smith died. I did some odd jobs for folks, plowed fields, picked weeds, took care of animals, but I just couldn't find anything meaningful. I ended up just packing my bags one day, and left my life behind. I wandered for months, and kind of... ended up here."

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