You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You 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?))
Ghazghkull cautiously approaches the twisted worn logs, the floor creaks with each step he takes and groans with every shift. As he sits the orc takes a moment to take in the environment.
“Speak wench”, a crackle oh hideous sound fills the air followed by a dead silence. The orc could feel it staring at him from a near burning sensation on his skin. “I can see what happened but where you conscious through any of it?” said the witch. Its stare turns to the blade by Ghazghkull's side, a harbinger of death the witch could feel the terror this hideous weapon had wrought at your own hands.
“I was” said Ghazghkull as, a tint of anger slipped through his blank face. “I did not choose this path, it was forced on me”. A horrid laugh follows, the orc pauses. A conflicting look replaces his tint of anger as he seems to weigh the truth of his statement. The sounds of the nearby nature being to fill the tent, life begins to sweep in. The blade at Ghazghkull's side darkens as wind dims a candle's vigor and your heart is set aflame. “You feel guilty” the hag comments, “you regret the steps you took to arrive here”.
“I made a choice to survive. I taunted the very idea of death, I spit in the face of weakness for it has no place here!” passion increases with each word Ghazghkull speaks, and the conviction of his words is stroked by the hag's observation. “When I was abandoned as a young pup in this desolate world I fought to survive. When I was sold into bondage, I fought to stay alive, and when I was forced to pick between me and my warband, I chose the path to my survival.” his words escalate in volume and emotion. “I am a survivor, I will not suffer the failures of those around and I will not suffer you. You know why I am here and you will tell me where I can find a solution to my consequence. ”
At each passing declaration the old hag’s small mouth begins to morph more and more into a heinous vile smile. The hag gets off its chair and sluggishly crawls toward the unalarmed orc. The sound of flesh rubbing on petrified wood fills the air. The stench of blood, unnaturally thick oozes from its wounds. As it reaches Ghazghkull's feet it raises its eyes to meet his. “Maybe we can help each other”.
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