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.”
Lucan (stepping in, eyes steady on the hag):
"Then you know I’m tired of wandering."
(He sits, shoulders squared but heavy with the weight of years on the road.)
"Name’s Lucan Lyarmark. No lords. No home. Just miles behind me and not much ahead."
(His hand brushes the old, worn pendant at his chest — rough, handmade, passed down too many times to count.)
"I’m looking to change that. Find my place. Build something real. Maybe this is where it starts."
(His gray eyes lock on hers, quiet but firm.)
"So. Is it?"
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