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.”
((How do you respond?))
As Kaelor steps inside the tent and sit down in the cushion, brushing bits of swamp mud from their boots, Kaelor Veyth's posture remains tense as his lifts his head. Meeting the hag's gaze beneath the flickering candlelight. "You were expecting me?" Kaelor asjs quietly, uncertainty in his voice. His eyes scans around the tenting, lingering on the hanging charms and half-melting candles. He had grown up in a small town in the muddle of nowhere, a place where even maps didn't have a name for. He barely remembers his parents' faces, but remembers the feeling of being cared for, knowing the he was loved. Until the life was taken from him. When they died, the town he grew up in offered little reason for him to stay, and even fewer opportunities for him to survive. "My story isn't anything to brag about." he continues, resting his hands on his lap. "I've been traveling for a long time. Job to Job." Since then, the road had become his home. He moved from town to town, taking whatever work that he could. Chasing the life his parents could be proud of. As the candles sway, a quiet unease settles in his chest. This place feels different, almost like it's intentional, as if his path has been guided there rather than chosen. Kaelor lifts his gaze back to the hag, his voice lowering. "If you were really expecting me," he says, "then you already know why I'm here."
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