You’ve just arrived at a high mountain, 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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, you sigh. so as a child my dad trained me as a survivor, he taught me survival tricks and stunts. One night he went out to get food in the mountains, he would be right back... I was waiting and waiting... I HEARD A LOUD SCREAM FOLLOWED WITH A GROWL. This was the last ie heard of my dad, after that I went to the mountains to live like my father wanted me to. build a family and create a safe environment for my kind of peeps. so I came here to find a place to start a mountain village.
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