DarkxWalker

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?))
 

Cherfintol's boots repressed against the mud as he made his way through the swampy, dim-lit town. His eyes had narrowed against the heavy air, the stench of the wet moss rotted his nostrils. It felt like a suffocating fog, and the man of peasantry descent had felt unwelcome from the first second he stepped here.

Tragically, he had to traverse through various lands to get to this town. As though his spirit were leading him here to start over, a new beginning. Laying before him was an amateurly minimal tent, sagging as it bestowed a dim light.
 

Lochunskofk’s throat tightened. His lips curled as he listened to this woman thoroughly, something was clearly off and that unsettled the man. How could she know that he was coming here, having never seen him prior to now? He wanted to call her bluff, that she was a crazy hag— Yet the certainty in her harsh tone left no room for doubt.

Ordered to sit, Cherfintol briefly took a seat on the damp cushion. There was something different here, something about the air in the tent, the flickering of the candles, the way the shadows seemed to dance with the whispers of the past.
 

Cherfintol took a deep breath, steadying himself. He was not a special person, nor had he been a nobleman. No one would recognize him, his entire life had been a tale of deceit, of beggary, of survival, of lies that were so seamless that they integrated into truths. They shaped him as a person, he was a fraud.

"My name is Sedarv-... Cherfintol." He muttered in an unconfident tone. Had that been his real name after all? "I grew up in a place where the weak were considered a hindrance, and the strong thrived on the misery of those who could not defend themselves." A land beyond Aevos itself, clearly.

"I learned early on," Lochunskofk reiterated, "that the world is a contest, and only the clever ones make it to the top of the food chain. I wasn't born with power, but I had my wits. I found ways to make people feel sorry for me, to pity me. I wanted to be acknowledged, recognized, they gave me money, food, shelter, everything because they were deceived by seamless lies."  —— "Yet that was not sufficient. I wanted more. I got greedy, seeking everything. I moved on from the normal folk, bigger targets were everywhere. The merchants, the noblemen, the rich folk... They ought to believe themselves too clever to fall for a beggar's trickery. I was always one step ahead, weaving a tale and tripping them with guilt and anxiety for my self-benefit. I got to walk away with either their trust, coin, or kindness. It was embezzlement, likely."

He curled his lips into a rueful smile. "All of this was never enough, not sufficient to feed unto my intrusive compulsions." He paused; the weight of his ambition was clearly larger than ever. "And so, I came here. I’ve heard stories of things that could grant me power—things that aren’t bound by the rules of men or gods. The lands talk, they gossip about these. I thought you might know of such things." Eventually, Cherfintol realized that this was going nowhere. He waved his hand dismissively, though explaining his story to someone helped him grasp the origins of his story, the fraud that he is, the deceiver that he was meant to be since birth. He lifted himself off the cushion and exited the sagging tent to continue his tale.