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?))
As you settle onto the cushion, a sigh escapes your lips, and you lean back slightly, glancing around before beginning.
"Name's Henry," you say, your voice calm yet tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "There’s not much to tell, sadly."
You pause, as if weighing the worth of the words to follow, then continue, your tone softening as you dive into memories that feel distant yet vivid.
"I was born on a small estate, not far from the reaches of our lord’s domain. It wasn’t anything grand, really. My family... we ran the place, kept things in order. My father, he was a minor noble, pledged to a baron. Not a man of vast wealth or power, but enough to make life comfortable, you know? Not like the big lords with their sprawling lands and endless coin."
Your gaze drifts as you recall those simpler times, the flicker of a smile briefly crossing your lips. "We weren’t drowning in riches, but there was always enough to keep us fed, a roof over our heads, and an education. My father saw to it that I learned more than just farming or swinging a sword. He believed in knowledge, in understanding how the world works."
A moment of silence follows, as if the story holds more weight than you're ready to express just yet. "Sadly my father passed away, sickness. we didn't have much after that, I moved away shortly after, went out in the world to make my own mark."
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