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.”
Viole stepped into the tattered tent, the scent of damp earth and stale air replacing the swamp's rot. His golden eyes scanned the flickering candles, their soft glow doing little to dispel the gloom. When the old hag's gaze fixed on him, a flicker of something akin to recognition, or perhaps resignation, crossed his usually unreadable face. He settled onto the offered cushion without a word, his posture composed yet distant, and waited for her to reiterate her request, a silent challenge in his stillness. After some time elapsed, Viole finally responded to her request. His response was distant once more, yet determined and spoken with conviction.
"My story is that of an enigma. Individuals whom I know in the past, believe me to be dead. That is not the case. A new deal... an opportunity has been presented to me, one that will allow me to climb to the top and find my answers. For now, I will feign my intentions. My identity will be false as well, living a lie for sometime and when the time is right, all will know who I am."
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