Kingofthese

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?))

"He hesitated, a knot forming in his stomach as he shifted his gaze between the weathered crone and the wild expanse beyond the tent. His father's resolute blade mounted on the wall seemed to silently affirm the path he'd chosen. "I've been on a journey," he confessed, his voice carrying the echo of his parents' guidance. "Searching for a place where their teachings can take root, where I can become one with the land." The crone nodded knowingly, her eyes holding the weight of centuries of wisdom. "The land reveals itself to those who seek with sincerity. Your journey is a communion with your lineage." The aroma of a hearty stew filled the tent, the scent intermingling with the strength and resilience of the Highlanders that he could almost feel coursing through his veins. "I carry my father's lessons and my mother's wisdom," he declared, ready to protect and thrive in the peaceful haven he so desperately sought.”