Frostlor

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?))

A middle-aged man with weathered features and a rough-hewn demeanor, ducks into the dimly lit tent. He takes a deep breath, the scent of rotted wood and wet moss mingling with the musty air inside. He glances at the suspended candles, their flickering light casting eerie shadows on the canvas walls.

"Long time no see," middle-aged man begins, his voice gravelly with the weight of years and travel. He steps further into the tent, his eyes narrowing as he studies the old hag. Recognition dawns in his eyes, a mixture of surprise and familiarity.

"Time has not been kind to this town, nor to you, Meliana," he says with a weary smile.

Meliana replies with a mixture of surprise and irritation,

"Huh, the first thing you say is that? after all these years? Seems like you didn’t learn manners in the cities, Husid."

Husid chuckles, a deep, resonant sound.

"Gahaha, seems so."

And then his tone shifts, tinged with sadness,

"So, Meliana, you’ve read the letter?"

"Indeed, I did. Aren't you going to tell Fauna, your only sibling?"

"No," Husid says, shaking his head.

"She doesn’t need to know. She deserves to live happily with her husband and child. No need to disrupt that."

Meliana’s expression grows serious.

"So, you’re really going?"

“Aye...” Husid replies, his voice softening.

“I march with the army of the Count. For the country, for the people. Those wretched monsters must be stopped.”

He takes a step closer, his weathered hand trembling slightly as he pulls an old pendant from his pocket. Placing it gently in Meliana’s hand, he says, his voice thick with emotion,

“Since I shall serve as rear-infantry and shall ne’er return, I beg thee, place this within the tomb of my parents. 'Tis all I can leave behind.”

Meliana nods solemnly.

"Alright, Husid."

“Now I must go. Farewell, Meliana.” His voice wavers, filled with a poignant mix of resolve and sorrow. Then he turns away, lingering momentarily to survey his birthplace one last time.