leeknowinawig

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.”

((How do you respond?))

Marisol is hesitant to approach the woman who has supposedly been expecting her. Truly, it's not like her to go barging into other people's dwellings, but there's something about this place that seems to demand her attention. The weathered tents, the scent of musk and damp that pervades her every sense. She thinks, perhaps, the old woman is right. She was meant to arrive here. This place needs her. 

"Okay," She concedes. "I'll bite."

Marisol's weight hits the cushion with an unceremonious puff, and she tucks her feet beneath her legs.

"I'm Marisol," 

"I know." The old woman holds her gaze. Her eyes are near inscrutable, but Marisol detects some amusement in her tone. She clears her throat.

"Okay, then, if you know so much about me, why ask?"

"Where would the joy in living be if not within our stories? Please, indulge me. I only ask of you a tale."

"As fair an answer as any. I suppose I'll start at the beginning. I was raised in a graveyard- my parents were both fierce warriors. They protected our land and our people from surges of undead. It was a gruesome place to grow up, certainly no place for a child. But, the hand you're dealt is the one you get. I left my resentment for them behind me a long time ago."

She pauses to gauge the old woman's reaction, but there's nary a twitch in her countenance. So, Marisol proceeds.

"I stayed there until I reached the cusp of sixteen years old. By that point, I could hold my own in a fight. They'd hand me a sword, and I'd cut down three zombies in a single swing. I thought I was quite the prodigy. I'm reluctant to admit that it became my biggest fallacy. A dozen nights or so before my birthday, we faced the greatest surge of undead I've ever seen, even to this day. There were-" Marisol pauses when her voice catches. "There were so many of them. And I thought, nothing we can't handle as a family. They've got my back, and I've got theirs. And for a while, we all fought valiantly. But I lost myself to the pace of it all, I stopped focusing on my surroundings and by the time I realised what I had done, it was too late. The zombies had my father surrounded, and he was dying."

Marisol takes a deep, shaky breath, and thinks about her light. She fights to uphold her composure.

"My mother gave me her lantern. It's all dented now, as it hasn't left my side since, but it's my last piece of them. I treasure it greatly. She handed me this lantern, and told me to run- that she loves me and she can find solace in the knowledge that I can live on. I cried and I cried, and I ran and ran, with no idea where I was going or what I was going to do now. I only stopped when I reached a cliffs edge. With nowhere else to run, I sat and I watched the sunrise. It was so beautiful. You know, the kind that paints the sky a brilliant array of pinks and oranges and dapples the clouds with golden linings. In all my grief, I thought it was so unfair- that I'd just lost everything, yet the sun still rose in the morning and life just continued. But then, the most amazing thing happened- a ray of light burst through a cloud, and my little lantern lit up with a brilliant light. I realised, I hadn't lost everything, as I still had myself. Every morning since, I've ventured outside to collect the first light of dawn. A new day, a new beginning, a fresh start. With my newfound freedom, I could do anything. So, I make the most of my new beginnings. I wander, and I learn, and I forgive and create and I do my best to honour my parents, who gave their lives for mine. My light guides me, and upholds my morals and virtues. I try to spread this philosophy wherever I go. Change is a good thing, that so many are unwilling to accept. The ability to leave things behind oneself- grudges, old flames, regrets- and weild their memory in building your future, is a blessing."

The old woman smiles. It's subtle; only a twitch in her lips, and a twinkle in her eye. "What a wonderful tale. You certainly live up to expectation."

Marisol picks up her lantern and places it in her lap, close to her chest. "Thank you," She says politely. "So, um, if we're done here- anywhere nearby I can get a pint?"