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?))
Slightly uneasy from the environment, David sits cross-legged upon the cushion.
"Not a very complex one, I'll say. My grandfather fought alongside some army, I've never learned which one, so they set him aside with a pittance to live his life on, after they'd taken an arm and an eye. He sat on this land, tilled its lands into a farm, and had my father. And again, he tried to search the world for meaning, horror appearing in every unturned stone. But he did find my mother, a young lass. Decided to hole themselves up against the world, farming till their hands grew tired and sore. I came along around the end of my father's life, while his hair was greying and his voice grew hoarse. I've decided to break the curse of it all, the world is a cesspit, with filth freely flowing into it. All I need is a market and my farm, I saw the agony it wrought on my family, the gaps behind my father's eyes whenever he looked at me, almost begging for me to stay safe. So, if you would excuse me, I must get to the proper town, I need to sell my product.
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