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 have come from afar, seeking to quench my Bloodlust." I reply. "My ancestors before me whisper constantly to me to fulfill what they brought onto my kind."
The hag's expression grows from collected to a more fearful state. The muscles in my face begin to twitch and before I can stop myself, she is dead. My heart begins to slow down as I begin walking towards the outside. Everyone in the town stared at me as if they had seen a demon. The deafening silence of this town does not phase me as I begin my trek northbound, letting the whispers lead me to my destination.
For many years the whispers of what I believe to be my bloodline have tormented me with nothing I can do to stop it. My family is shrouded in mystery, my father never spoke about our history and my mother had passed before I was able to speak. What I am, who I am, and where I am from will forever be a mystery to me, but I do know my name which is a name that will never be forgotten.
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