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.”
The boy steps into the tent, boots damp from the swamp’s muck, leaving faint tracks on the worn canvas beneath him. He glances at the floating candles—soft, flickering light reflecting in his lavender eyes. The hag’s voice pulls his gaze forward, sharp and alert. He hesitates, surprised by her words, then slowly lowers himself onto the cushion, brushing damp hair behind a pointed ear.
“…My story?” he repeats, voice low and smooth but with a slight chuckle, but still the faintest lilt of caution lingered. “I suppose it starts far from here. Deep underground, in a place where the walls breathe and the silence listens. But I never belonged there—not really. My birth place many may call it but a home it was not. I felt as if I was always alone even in groups.”
He looks up, meeting her gaze fully now.
“I left the Underdark when I was fifteen. Couldn’t stand the politics, the posturing, the constant games. Above ground, they called me 'ghost-skin' and watched me like I’d vanish with their silver. Still... it was better than staying. Expectations drove me wild a boy who had to become a military weapon due to his fathers intentions. I simply want independence, freedom, and the opportunity to build who I am and who I can be.”
His fingers fidget with a small charm at his neck, half-consciously almost like a nervous tick.
“I’ve followed dreams here. Or maybe warnings. I’m not sure yet. But you… you seem to know more than I do. So teach me where do I go from here, do I travel the world to seek a new life even with many whom seem to see me as a villain? Or, do I return home and become a tool for my father's own well-being?”
He leans in slightly, candlelight dancing in his lavender eyes.
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