GrenadierGaming

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?))
 

I stare into the candlelight for a moment, reaching into my mind for the memories of yesteryear, "I come from a small family, a mother and a father. Humans they were." I pause, "They had found me left in a muddy ditch aside the road, and raised me as their own." I settle myself down before the hag, a little less tense now that the memories of home spill forth, "We were not very wealthy. My mother was a wench; she washed clothes and bathed the soldiers. My father was a smith, though not a fine one. Maybe that's why he picked me up, figured I'd be as good a smith's son as any." I chuckle lightheartedly, but it's clearly melancholy, "They did their best to give me a good life. But, money was always a problem. Our shop was always in need of repair, and our clothes resembled rags at best. My father took a loan from a questionable man, a hefty sum that we could never have dreamed to pay back in hopes of rekindling our business. The fool he was." My jaw clenches, and a sneer touches my lips, "They came back not a few weeks later expecting the money back with interest. When my father refused, they took what little stock we had and left us to starve. The guards did nothing. We were forced to leave or face a slow death." My eyes fall to the floor, a sadness touching my brow, "They died on the road...dysentery. I buried them there in the plains and I was alone." I look up to the hag, "And now I am here, searching for a purpose in this cruel world."