You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You 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?))
He slowly aproach the women, siting down on the cushion, feeling the cold wood floor through it. He feelt an cold breeze " The Adunian succesion laws grants the land of the father to the youngest son. I was for a long time the youngest and was set on inhereting my fathers land until he went of and had another kid with som high elf. Cheating bastards the high elfs are. This led to my after my 17th winter to leave home to find my own glory. I thought the only way an Adunian could find his glory in this world was throught violence and war so from my 17th winter I roamed the lands working as a blade for hire. I honed my skiles in sword fighting. I took a liking to fighting and this played into my perseption as being a outsider in most towns. I beliece you have to meet adversite with grit perseverance and a happy face. If I can go through life with my sword, some god friends and a tavern". He stands up and with a friendly smile shakes the old womens hand. The once young man looks of into the distent pondering this litle town. He had been in many such alike, but somthing about the women was different. The now rising sun was gleaming over the man in the tent. And he noded a finale goodbye to the women.
Recommended Comments