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.”
"I'm from a small village in Norland," Leo began, eyes fixed on the floor, as he took his seat on the cushion. "It was peaceful… quiet. Until the night they came." Leo pauses, the memory clawing its way up his throat. "We were attacked. No warning, no mercy. My parents hid me beneath the floorboards, hoping I'd be spared. They bought my life with their own." Leo’s hands curled into fists. "Since that night, I've had only one purpose—to find the ones responsible, and make them pay."
He ran a thumb along the worn edge of his belt, eyes flicking toward the flickering candles.
A gust from the flap stirred the tent, and he shivered without meaning to.
He shifted on the cushion, as if the weight of the words made sitting harder.
Then, slowly, he looked back up to the hag, he was silent, steady, and waiting.
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