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?))
Lucien gives the old hag a cautious glance. He ponders for a moment before responding.
“I confess, I hadn’t expected a welcome quite so... personal.”
His voice was smooth and articulate showcasing his educated status. “But if you've truly been awaiting me, then it seems fate has sent us both into the mire for a reason.”
Lucien enters the tent with calculated steps, the bottom of his cloak damp. Standing still for an instant, he looks into the floating candles before sitting in formal posture.
"I am named Lucien Adrast Branleigh."
His speech is measured, deliberate.
"I was born of working-class parents—working-class individuals with fingers stained with ink and backs bent through honest work. We owned a bookshop. No aristocratic home, no inheritance. Simply decent folk."
He holds his hands in his lap.
"My brother, Mathias, burned brightly. Restless and reckless, he could never sit still for the world to mold him. So he tried instead to mold the world."
The tension eases in Lucien, though the weight of remembrance still in his eyes.
"I stayed. I read the rules, the systems. Not because I believed in them, but because I recognized that I would need to understand them if I was going to make them change. We both seek something better—just in different directions."
He inclines his head sideways, his eyes narrowing towards the hag.
"You said that you were expecting me. Well, in that case, you already know that. I am not here pursuing destiny. I am here because something has been set into motion. I am going to follow it wherever it goes—with my eyes open and pen in hand."
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