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?))
The young lady sits and avoids eye contact with the woman for a short period of time, before taking a deep breath and sighing. "You can call me Violet, but you'll forget the name soon enough. Most travelers call me Scorched, you can imagine why," she says, waving with her strangely burnt arm. "Being born a peasant, it's not hard to be considered society's punching bag. Once such person thought it was funny to push me into a pile of burning coals, which you can see the result of." She opens a canteen and takes a deep drink, the smell is clearly alcoholic.
"Out of shame, I abandoned everyone and everything, and now I travel to find purpose in this life. At least the arm's never feels cold," she says with a chuckle. "But come, this is a one-sided conversation. Mind if you tell me your past, perhaps over some tea?"
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