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?))
Hans wipes his sleeve across his forehead as he steps inside, trying to wipe the swamp scum from his face. His boots leaving damp foot prints on the tents damaged floor. he hesitates as the tents flap fall closed behind him, shutting out what little light came through the swampish haze.
"pretty gloomy out there," he mutters, giving the closed tent flap a final glance. He shifts awkwardly, then lowers himself onto the cushion that was left out for him, the floor groans beneath him as he sits down. He lets out a light cough , "My name is Hans...""Ahem," "Hans Waldemar" He says, finding it easier to concentrating on the candles rather then the old woman who reminded him so of the witches his mother always warned him and his siblings about, "I'm a mason by trade looking for work, learnt it from my Father..." "Sighs Heavily" As He rubs at a calloused palm, scarred with old chisel slips. His gaze moves upwards to the hovering candles, narrowing slightly at the way they burn without flickering even with the stank ozone breeze in the tent .
“Can’t say I much like magic,” he mutters under his breath. “Candles ought to flicker. That’s what fire does.”
He looks back to her, more sharply than before.
“Listen,” he says, hands clenching at his knees, “I ain’t much for prophecy, and no one has ever said, ‘Oh, Hans, I’ve been expectin’ you,’ so forgive me for my timidity’.” He gives a short breath of a laugh—more uneasy than amused. He leans forward, voice lowering.
“So please,” he says. “Tell me what you think a man like me could find around here. And while you’re at it—tell me why you’re so certain it’s me you have been waitin’ for.”
Sorry about formatting i dont really know how to format this much text with how i wrote it without it just being really long, Doing a majority of my backstory below cause rp wise dont think Hans would tell much to a unknown suspected witch about his life
Hans Waldemar is a 32 year old highland stone mason/handy man who learnt the trade from his now deceased father going town to town with his father working as his apprentice. acouple months after he turned 20 his father and family were killed a group of Orcish vagabonds and bandits when they set his village alight, he still blames himself for their deaths he did not wait for them to leave the house before he ran for the hills he heard the howls of death behind him but not once did he think of looking back. That is were his adult life started he found a keep in construction and was able to join the work force and kept getting better and better at his given trade once the completion of his first keep he joined the Architects and learnt to do more then just cut stone he learnt to build something that wouldnt crumble moving to the next castle as a apprentice architect and years later he ended up becoming a solitary traveling looking for somewhere to settle down and ended up in a little dingy town.
he hates orc's and cannot look at them less of a murderous hate then a guilt ridden hate because of his family. He will not fight any fight he thinks he has a inkling of losing a coward at heart with a rough stone like exterior does not talk a lot but can get worked up in the right circumstances , hates magic and is afraid of magic users will spill his guts if threatened with magic. Loves rain fog and everything alike
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