BoyzIIBread

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?)) 

Van turns his head to the hag before taking a seat on the cushion, posture straight despite the sagging canvas above. “I was born in the Ai-Zho peninsula,” he begins calmly, “among a small, isolated clan who built their homes on stilts above the marsh channels. We were neither a rich nor a powerful clan, but we were disciplined. In our village, every child learned to help others before trusted with a blade. I spent my mornings with ink and pen, my afternoons training upon wet dockwood, and my evenings aiding my elders. In a small clan, no mind can afford to be dull, and no temper can afford to be lost.” He folds his hands in his lap, eyes focused. “The elements teach patience. Floods come with no pity; only those who prepare can endure them. My people survived because we planned, strategized, and stood together. I left not out of exile, but came because wisdom stagnates if it never leaves home.