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.”
"I was raised in the outskirts of Numendil as a farmer, but grew up to be a soldier." Bred stated. "My father was a Haenser and my mother was born and raised in the city." "But..." Bred hesitated as he worked his jaw. "When they met, they moved into the countryside and started a farm, a wheat farm that is..." Bred sighed heavily. "So... my father thought it would be reeeal funny if my name was Bred, cause, y'know: wheat." Bred said, as he rolled his eyes. "I lived on that farm my whole damn life. Nothing but fields of wheat. a-and some animals of course." He put a finger on his lip for a moment, then leans forward. "I just got tired of it after a while. And I guess I just..." Bred paused "got some wanderlust all of a sudden." He said as he started to smile. "I want to travel the land because I know its in my bones." He sits back, folds his arms together, looks down, and then back up again. "I know I've got something to offer to the world."
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