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?))
Tadeusz sat down unhurriedly at the appointed place. He casually looked around the tent and pulled his nose. When he sat down he looked at the woman slightly cross-eyed. He didn't know much about people, but they always made him curious. Their various oddities especially interested him, because everyone was always different in something. "My story is not interesting and it's not long. I grew up in poverty, with an older cousin who passed on everything he knew to me and died when I was twelve springs old." At the mention of his cousin, he gasped for those times and stopped talking for a moment. "He trained me in combat and taught me how to adapt to any conditions. He instilled in me the values of my family, the Kos, of which I am probably the last descendant. Then I traveled the world and learned everything trying to survive. That's how I ended up here, as one of many, and more will come after me. This is all me, Tadeusz." He smiled a little insincerely and waited for the stranger's answer, wondering what the next day would bring
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