LuchtAisengard

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?))

*Resting his hand behind his back* When I was seven, soldiers arrived in the village with devastating news—my parents had died, their lives cut short by one of the countless wars waged by warriors who had never marched across villages like ours. The world did not mourn their loss, but to me, they had meant the world. My fate was decided in a moment: I would fight for food or starve.

Living with peasants was rough, but my brother and I made it through. We trapped rabbits and stole when our stomachs demanded it. And then one day, there was a stranger in the village, spinning tales of wealth to my brother about lands on the other side of the ocean where we would never lack for food again. I watched my brother change to that man's tricks, his head filled with dreams of a life that I knew was all lies.

One day, when we were hunting, all the tension came to a head. My brother was shaking and looked uneasy. The stranger attacked,
his longsword sliced the air in a death blow. my arm was completely destroyed. The pain was unbearable. My brother slightly sliced himself with the sharp of his sword to make it look like a wound then he and the man disappeared and went on to tell the authorities, leaving me lying in the mud, crying out for help that would never come.
But fate had other plans for me.

An elderly doctor found me, clinging to my last breath. He took me to his house and tended to my injuries cauterizing them, leaving my arm completely black and covering it up with some cloth he had. Then, he gave me a horse and pushed me on, knowing that if the guards discovered him aiding the so-called agressor, he would hang.
I had read through deserts and forests, over rivers and mountains, until at last I sought shelter in a small hut. But safety was an illusion.
The twang of a crossbow string echoed through the air.
I turned too late.

Three robbers set upon me, their arrows striking my horse. The animal made one last scream before crashing to the ground under me. One of the men stepped forward, sword held high, noticing that I was weaponless. I was about to flee, but fear gave way to desperation I used my dagger stabbing him in heart and killing him in an instant, grabbing his sword and fleeing.

I refused to quit. Injured, broken, and hunted, I ran until at last I reached the swamp, where I am now hurt, but living.