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?))
Justinian’s right hand moved almost instinctively to his hip, but it found nothing but air. He grimaced, remembering that life was far behind him now, and he began to address the old woman in front of him as pleasantly as possible. “I believe you have me confused for another, I do not know anyone from this… charming little town, let alone yourself.”
“No young one, it is you I have been waiting for. Sit”, she said again with a harsher tone, the candles in the tent seeming to grow dimmer, “I am sure your tale would be an interesting one to hear”.
Justinian bowed slightly and sat on the cushion, trying to inconspicuously place as much of his cloak between the cushion and him as possible. “Well I would want to offend my host!” He chuckled nervously, “I suppose I should start with my name. I am Justinian Koropoulos, son of Meneki and Elene Koropoulos.”
“A fine name to be sure, and your story?”
Justinian sighed heavily, “You really are persistent about this whole story thing aren’t you? Very well, I shall recount it as best I can.” He took a moment to breathe, collecting his thoughts and then began to speak again. “I was born into a comparatively comfortable family, we had a coastal farm in the far south of my home island of Primyra. My father had worked hard to get us to where we were, and we were known across the island for the quality of our produce. It was a good life, we weren’t troubled by war nor plague nor any other form of misfortune.” Justinian paused for a second, his breathing becoming shallower. “Then Primyra suffered catastrophe.”
“Of what kind sir,” the hag interrupted Justinian, with a hint of glee in her voice as a smile creeped across her mouth, revealing stained and jagged teeth. “Plague, natural phenomena, or something brought on by her inhabitants?”
“If you must know, it was a volcanic eruption.” Justinian snapped back, “Although I fail to see what is amusing about a whole island being practically buried in ash. I was one of the few lucky ones, protected by enough mountains that I could leave the island before my lungs became choked with ash! Neither my parents nor many of my friends made such a fortunate escape.”
Justinian stood up and headed for the door, stopping for a moment to give one last remark to the old woman. “From there there is nothing more to tell hag, are you satisfied with my story now?”
“Oh yes, it is quite an entertaining one.” The hag cackled whilst drawing a candle from a box, “I am sure you have an eventful life ahead of you Justinian, may the fates guide you.”
Justinian snorted and left the tent, muttering under his breath, “What have the fates ever done for me woman.”
Back in the tent, as Justinian left her sight, the crone lit the candle she held delicately in her hand, and watched as it joined its brothers and sisters in the air. “Another young fool, what will this land have in store for him I wonder?”
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