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?))
Vinland lowers himself onto the cushion, rusted armor creaking, mismatched eyes fixed on the hag.
“I was once a warrior,” he says, voice rough. “Sworn to fire, chasing divinity with blade and vow. We found only curses." He exhales, slow and bitter. " my village was one of no consequence small and simple. i enjoyed playing with the other children, it was fun to be free and laugh, to be giddy at the prospect of games with my friends." he sighed " but it all changed when we were attached by a band of bandits. they burned down my house with my mother trapped inside." he pauses as pain flashes across his face " i saw her die, her tear stained face aunts my dreams every night... " a deep breath as he regains his composure " from there I swore to protect everyone else so that they may not suffer as i had suffered" He leans forward slightly, the candlelight catching the soot on his face. a scar gleams where the flesh didn't heal properly. " My father died in a blaze of glory on a battle field, my brother the same way, but the gods in all the cruelty saw it fit to allow me to live." he leaned back " tell me hag you are one who walks with the spirits, why did the gods punish me so? why force me to live in a world where anything i hold dear is killed brutally and mercilessly?" he sits in waiting for the gnarled old women to reply
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