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?))
It took Hearken a while before her words registered and he sat down. His mind felt foggy in a way that should be concerning, if only he cared enough to know why. That wasn’t to say he had no sense of curiosity—it was mostly just that, well, Hearken was more interested in what was happening in the here and now. All he remembered was a war and some sort of fight.
“I was.. doing something,” Hearken started with little to no hesitation. “I think I was running or delivering something somewhere? There were a lot of trees and grass. I can’t really remember anything much before that. I know there’s a big fight going on..”
Perhaps Hearken was speaking too comfortably with a woman he barely knew, even though she clearly, somehow, knew him. His clothes were smeared with dirt and grass stains, his curls were long and uncared for. Wild.
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