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.”
"my story you say hmm.... that's something deeply personal yet i feel as if i have no choise but to say it" takes a seat on the floor with crossed legs "where to start hmmm, well i guess you could say my story starts 4 years ago when i left my land at the age of 15. i lived in a small vilage in a old forest of willows by the coast with my mother and 2 sisters my mother had been a hunter and had not returned one day when i was 11. well in this village everything was peacfull we fished hunted and wove untill one day a group of bandits.. *stuters and whipes eye* came and ruined everything they killed my mother and sisters and took the rest of the villgers slaves if they survived.. i barely escaped buy hideing in the wine celler for 3 days when i came out everything was burned and there was no one left. so i travled south as i had heard there where free lands there for 5 years until i ended up here after my long jorney. now will you tell me your story?
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