BrownieRage

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?))

Liam thought about it for a spell. He wasn't one to share much about his life, mostly because the memories it drudged up were things he'd rather leave behind him. But even he knew that wasn't anything more than wishful thinking. Talking about it helped, at least slowly. Like the knife was gently working its way out of his heart like a sliver slowly coming to the surface. 

"My name is Liam. I... I was a soldier not too long ago. Suppose I've been a soldier all my life, at least since they plucked me off the farm as a child. I grew up big and strong, and to those that knew how to use that to their advantage I be I looked like an opportunity that couldn't be left to waste."

Liam let the flap of the tent fold in behind him as he sat before the woman, his legs crossed and knees protesting from years of mistreatment. "But I'm done with that now. Few seasons ago I was wounded. Funny thing about time, is that it gets us all I suppose. All it took was someone younger and stronger to put me down for a change. I was left for dead, if not for an old man in the forest. I could have sworn I had truly died that day. Was so sure of it, that I thought my eyes saw Tahariae over my body, come to pass judgment for all that I had done. The old man said it was just the herbs and the hallucinations that came with them."

Liam sat quietly, thinking of that cloaked figure. Maybe it was just the old man standing over him rather than divine intervention. Likely had to be he figured. He was assured that the gods had abandoned him and his violence long ago. 

"After I was healed, I was faced with the decision to head back or... not. For the first time in my life the sword just didn't feel the same in my hand again. It felt, cold. Like a part of me did die and would never return. And I must say, these past moons without it... I've never felt better. I am traveling west to Nevaehlen. The old man told me of the elves and their peace. I am hoping they may show me the path of a life where I can use these hands to help, to build and maybe even heal."