Weight: 180lb
Proportion: Stout, lean face
Hair: Long and dark, matted and unkept
E/C: Amber
Outfit: Miner's or traveller's attire.
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?))
Werasseck snorts, looking behind him as if to make sure he has not been followed, before promptly placing himself on the cushion which sags under his weight. He is hesitant to share with the hag; Werasseck was an untrusting fellow, yet he saw that as this was the reason he had come to this place so far removed from the caves, he may as well share his story. He let out a grumble, before he began his retelling: "If you 'ave been expecting me, t'an you probably already know that I go by the name of Werasseck Flintmaster. I once 'ailed from a noble line of forgemasters, yet I 'ave foresaken those roots, as I was betrayed by my fat'er who was driven mad by a cursed weapon of 'is own creation. 'e's become a damned monster in the guise of a man, and with 'is own 'ands 'e attempted to take my life. T'us I 'ad taken it upon myself to scourge the land for a way to purge Aevos of 'is rotten being. Yet my goals 'ave proven folly: for the cursed fool took 'is own life, and now I am severed of all connections, both familial and to my kingdom. The caves have become my only 'ome, a respite from the world, and I fear that the madness which drove my fat'er to villainy may find its roots in my soul as well. I serve no lord or master, only myself, but I do not wis' to s'are in my fat'er's fate and cause blight upon the land. I can already feel the madness take 'old on my mind, its claws digging in and w'ispering soft words that promise malice and bloodshed. T'erefore I now seek to crush t'is curse before it rears its ugly face."
Werasseck finished his retelling, the first time he had told anyone the whole story, yet if he had come to this hag for assistance he knew that she must know the full story. Even now as he sat before her, seeking guidance and counsel from this wise elder, the madness stirred, quietly begging him to unleash his sword on her frail form. For now, he kept the urge at bay.
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