L8Pixles

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 used to live in a small unnamed island far to the south. You know, sometimes I find myself lost in thought, reminiscing about my mother, Alysia with me on the island. She was a remarkable woman, a herbalist who spoke of the old ways with such reverence. Her stories filled my mind with enchantment and wisdom, weaving a tapestry of nature’s secrets that felt both wondrous and essential. I’d often wander the woods, gathering herbs, listening to the whispers of the wind. It was in those moments that I felt an unbreakable bond with the world around me—an affinity that set me apart from the other children. They were wary of my connection to nature, of the strange tales that followed me like shadows. But the forest was my sanctuary. I could identify every plant by sight, understanding their medicinal properties and how they thrived under the sun or in the shade. Hours would slip away as I observed the animals, noticing how they moved and communicated, perfectly in sync with the changing seasons. It was as if nature spoke to me, revealing secrets that only I could understand. I’ve always felt emotions radiating from the forest. When it thrived, joy filled me; when it suffered, I was engulfed by sorrow. That sensitivity allowed me to bond with the creatures—squirrels would approach, and birds would sing a little louder when I was near, recognizing a kindred spirit, perhaps. My mother nurtured that connection, teaching me the ancient ways of herbalism, reminding me that balance is essential. She believed that the spirits dwell in the trees and rivers, and I’ve come to see myself as part of something far greater than I could grasp. I grew up in her warmth, but the truth weighed heavily on her heart. And when the drought came, it changed everything. I watched my mother starve, as she quietly sacrificed her own nourishment to keep me alive. The day she passed, I felt as if the sun had dimmed." I try hard as not to tear up while speaking. "I know not where I came from, my mother was keep on hiding that from everyone, including me. Rumors thus swirled around me, and without her protection, I became the scapegoat for the villagers' anger. When the rains returned, they didn’t bring the relief we hoped for. Instead, they unleashed a tempest of fear. One stormy night, as I tried to help a villager trapped beneath a fallen tree, I was met not with gratitude, but with accusations. A crowd descended upon me, driven by their panic. They demanded I leave or face dire consequences. I realized then that acceptance was a dream I could never attain among those who feared me. So, I fled into the night, guided by the whispers of the forest that had cradled my spirit since childhood. I carried only a small satchel of herbs and a heavy heart, stepping into the unknown. My journey led me to the Crothstad Woodlands, a mystical place far from the shadows of my past. The air here is crisp, the scent of pine invigorating. I find solace in the beauty of the rocky riverbeds and the song of cascading waterfalls, like a welcome embrace for my weary soul. I wish to live my life slumbering under the old ones, without worry nor boredom. But I do not know what life has in store for me."