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?))
Ril Bunev blinks, uncertain, his boots squelching on the damp ground as he shifts his weight. The hag's eyes seem to pierce deeper than they should—like she's already rifled through the corners of his soul and revealed his true self, bare.
He hesitates, then awkwardly lowers himself onto the cushion. His average frame folds into a cross-legged position with a moderate lack of grace.
He glances at the dancing candlelight, then at her again. Her eyes haven't left him. He is cautious, but those eyes, he knows that he must answer with something, so, taking in the wet air, he cautiously says,
"...You say you've been expecting me. That makes one of us."
He offers a tired smile—more out of habit than charm.
"My name's Ril. Ril Bunev. I'm no one of note. I come from a no-name town in some no-name part of the world, born only to a mother who worked too hard, with no father worth remembering. I wasn't born with the blood of kings or the mark of prophecy. No gods ever whispered my name. I'm just a man."
He leans forward a little, resting his forearms on his knees.
"But I read the old stories. The ones where farmhands slay tyrants, or a forgotten son lifts a kingdom. I know I don't have their skill... but... every night I dream..."
Ril trails off, staring at the candles, watching the flame flicker back and forth. He shrugs slightly, letting out a soft yet audible sigh, as his voice softens.
"I know it's silly, but can you blame me? To matter, to truly make a difference in someone's life. My whole life I've been average. I wasn't good enough with a sword to be a knight, and we had no money to get a proper tutor for anything. I only managed to scrape by and learn to read and write from my mom. So... I left. I wanted to see the world. Learn its rules. Maybe find something I've missed. Maybe make a difference—somewhere. Even if it's small."
He pauses.
"That's the story so far. The rest… well, maybe that's why I'm here."
He studies her face, cautious but curious.
"So, if you really were expecting me—why? What do you know about my story?"
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