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?))
Gabrial arches an eyebrow, intrigued by the hag's words but also wary of her cryptic demeanor, eyeing the hag but sat, his grip firm on his sword. “You’ve been expecting me?” he asked, his voice low. “ I’ll tell you my story, but its nothing special.”
I was born in a quiet village in the Midlands, far from the bustle of cities. Life was simple—small homes, familiar faces, and the sound of the village bell at dusk. I remember it well: warm days spent chasing after stray dogs and nights sneaking around the marketplace, looking for my next meal. A wandering knight arrived one day—Ser Kaelrin. At the time, I was just a street rat, stealing scraps and doing what I could to survive. I tried to steal from him once, but he caught me. Instead of turning me in, he sat me down, gave me food, and told me stories of the world beyond the Midlands. Over time, he taught me the sword and drilled into me the importance of honor. ‘A true knight spares a surrendered foe,’ he’d say. When he finally left, I made the choice to follow him, determined to be more than the street rat he found that day. Im making my way threw this world now, trying to bring him honor.
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