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.”
He nods, remaining calm while moving over to the cushion to take a seat. He says confidently "You have?". His voice deepens, despite the uneasiness lording over him. "Where to start... Well, when I was young, my mother and father were killed for simply stealing a couple turnips.." he pauses before continuing, "I was left with nothing and had to raise myself, teach myself how to survive in harsh conditions. Until one day, I was starving to death. I needed food, so I took some.... From the wrong type of people, I ran and ran while being chased relentlessly until I found a group of warriors, who scared them off and kindly took me in. I was slowly forged into the man I am today. I recently separated from them to find my own way in life." He pauses, sad as he misses his friends but conceals it for the most part. He would then reach into his satchel to grab his leather waterskin, keeping his dagger close and hidden inside a secret slot in the satchel, he takes a sip before speaking again, "Anyway, I'm not sure why I have just told you all this... You have a rather, trustworthiness about you... Tell me then, what's your story?"
Recommended Comments