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?))
Example: (delete this)
'Gods your creepy..." Urikk says in shock. (in a scottish/irish accent)
He gestures towards his axe but soon hesitates, seeing the hag poses no threat, he softens his posture and tone.
"Well...been a rough set of moons of late, to say the least. Only last week my clan burnt to ashes as with every sign of our being. My sisters...my parents...gone. " His voice shudders as the memory singed hair flood his nostrils, a tear rolls down his cheek, though it is swiftly wiped away.
"My Mother and Father were Hunters, as were their forefathers, that and bow crafters. Though every clan in the highlands claims their bow making style is the best...i truly believe with no ounce of pride that my family takes that title, still carry the same Yew bow made by my 12 great grand grandfather, shoots just fine" urik says rolling the wooden shaft in his palm.
"My family were leaders of our Clan for as long as the scriptures tell, fair and just, as the first intended. Never was a man wrong done by or a dishonourable act imposed that stained our name. Never. We looked after our people, we flourished.
Then the raiders started flooding into are lands, and war began ravaging each corner of our homeland, things became sour. the game started fleeing from the hilltops, once lush forests became bonfires started by soldiers during weeklong flaming arrow follies, brother turned on sister in a fight for survival, so our clan retreated deeper into the mountains than any of the fore fathers had dared step and when the trouble followed us...it left us no where else to go."
"it was in those mountains where i earned my brand 'The Bear-Kissed' those jagged slopes were home to bears so large it dwarved the tallest beserker in our ranks, clawed him in half, i on the other hand killed the hellish thing but got left with a daily reminder of why not to step foot in those mountains again"
he says pointing to the four gashes in his cheek running from his eye to his chin.
"Now I suppose I'm out to seek whatever it is that gives a man the ability to truly help those in need, men talk of Glory but i couldnt give a damn about glory i care about Honour and fighting for your fellow men for a better world , ive always been good with an axe, yet brute force has been my families way for millenia, look where that got us, ill wield an axe for the rest of my days and i hope i die with the thing grasped tightly in my palms...but surely theres more to life than cracking skulls of disillusioned men... maybe this place will show me what that is...maybe not"
"For now...I need a warm bed...A cold Mead...and a beautiful Tavern Girl to listen to my woes." Urik says as his eyes glaze over with PTSD induced derealisation.
"show me the way would you?" he asks the hag, polietly.
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