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?))
The swamp’s moisture still soaks her boots, and a shiver runs through her entire body. Slowly, she approaches the cushion, hesitating before sitting down.
“You were expecting me… I mean,” she murmurs in a rough tone. “I don’t usually believe in these things, but I will tell you…”
A weary sigh escapes her lips. The flickering candlelight reflects the fatigue on her face as she lowers her gaze, collecting her thoughts.
I was born among the Mali’ker,” she begins softly, her voice carrying both pride and longing. “Our people live by the words of the Ancestors, hidden away from the chaos of the world. From the moment I could walk, I wanted to see beyond the walls of our caverns. The others thought me restless — too curious for my own good.”
Her fingers trace the edge of her cloak, leaving faint trails in the dust. “So I trained to fight. Not to harm, but to protect. I wanted the strength to travel, to learn, and to survive whatever the world would show me. Yet the more I saw, the more I realized how little I understood. The songs of my kin speak of spirits that guide us... I think I have begun to hear them myself.”
Chupete looks up again, her eyes glinting with determination beneath the dim candlelight.
“So, here I am — chasing whispers and shadows, trying to find what lies beyond faith and fear. Maybe your town is just another stop on that path... or maybe it’s where the path truly begins.
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