Rian was born in a modest farmstead on the windswept outskirts of a small territory. He was born to a tenant farmer and a woman who died of an unknown sickness before he could form any real memory of her. Rian was taught from a young age by calloused hands how to tend to the fields, handle a heavy scythe with finesse, and most importantly, the value of keeping to himself. When his father passed and his older brother took over the farm, Rian packed his things and drifted amongst the other small farms and villages looking for work. He harbors an inherited distrust of large cities, but still extends a rough but genuine warmth to those who earn his trust.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
Upon the old hag speaking, Rian pauses in the doorway for a brief second as he analyzes the room. Despite a sense of anxiety he crosses into the small shack, taking an interest in what the woman has to say. He pulls the chair a little further away from the woman and sits quietly. He takes a short breath and speaks plainly; "I come from a small farm up north in the Greyfields." as he says this he fiddles with his hands, maintaining eye contact with the woman. "I worked most of my life upkeeping land I would never inherit. When the time finally came for my brother to take over I decided to move on. As for what I hope to make of myself? I simply want a small patch of land to call my own, a decent neighbor, and perhaps a wife and family. A simple life." He shifts anxiously in his chair. "Although the fact that you were expecting me makes me wonder if the universe is expecting more from me."
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