MonkeyBorn2

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.”

((How do you respond?))

*I slam down into the cushion and sigh* Thank you, I've had a long journey here.  Dangerous roads about with all those bandits and others.  My horse almost didn't make it.  Ol betsy I call her.  I've only had her for a short time.  But enough about her.  I lived with my father in a small cabin in the woods near a village.  We lived pretty alright, my father was a logger, chopping trees and selling the wood for money.  I helped out and learned the proper ways to handle an axe from him.  It was on the night of my 20th birthday that the village was attacked by bandits.  My father, with his love for the village folk, ran there with his axe in hand.  He didn't want me to fight so he locked me in the old cellar.  The night went bye and he never returned.  I had to break open the cellar door to escape and what I saw afterwards broke me.  The village was gone, burnt to ashes.  Bodies of the villagers and bandits alike strewn across the once great village.  The last body I found was my fathers, axe still in his hand.  I gave him a proper burial and took his axe.  Walked across the roads and to other towns and villages and worked small time jobs to make a living before moving on.  Did that for 3 years and now I'm here.