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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until… "I was raised in a humble household. He looked up, remembering good, old times. "I spent my youth as an apprentice in my family's forge. I would help my father while my older sister helped mother with the stitching and the weaving. Everything was perfect..." He smiled, but suddently his face darkened, the smile slowly vanishing. "Until a group of orcs raided our village." He placed his hand on his forehead, as if it hurt to remember. "The houses were on fire. I saw people I knew since a kid die by the flames and by those monsters. Me and my sister escaped. But our parents didn't. Helped arrived too late..." He took off his headband, a scrap of orange cloth, then clutched it into his fist. "This is all I have left from my father. After that, I swore to myself I wouldn't let that happen to anyone else. Once we started again in the near village, I began to train myself in the arts of swordsmanship. For one day..." He raised his eyes, with a determined look. "I will become a soldier who fights to protect others. I won't let it happen again." He frowned. "I know this is not the life my father wanted for me. He would have wanted me to become a blacksmith, just like him. But this is who I am. And this is the path I chose."
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