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.”
"My story?" Eyes flickering in the dim candlelight, a deep exhale followed as Gaius sat, legs crossed in a haphazard heap upom the pillow.
"Hmph." A gruff cough, eyes hovering upon the hag's grim countenance. "As you wish."
In a dry yet hearty monotone, he spoke: "Apprentice, is... I suppose the term. I was an apprentice. To a smith - a tinkerer - fine as could be at his craft in the far reaches of the now Empire of Man."
Clearing his throat with a balles fist, bound in dark-stained rags "Nine years I laboured under him - nine years well spent and lived in joy and peace. He was a good man - dead though now he is."
"Bided his time well, I suppose, in waiting for me to be of age." A shrug as his brow furrowed. "Not that his death was by choice - for that I've a dragon to blame."
"Alas, since then I've been but a scholar of sorts, carrying on his work and some of my own."
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