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?))
Reynevan Winchester’s voice was thick with the weight of years as he spoke. "I was a soldier, once," he began, his eyes distant. "With my brother. We were from a small village in the far north, we're Norlanders you see. Then orc bandits attacked. We fought side by side… until we were torn apart. I never saw him again."
He paused, the pain of that night still raw. "I’ve searched for him ever since. Chased every lead. And now, I’ve come here. To this town. I don’t know why, but I feel something. Maybe it’s where I’ll finally find a clue. Or maybe I’ve just lost myself in the search."
The old hag studied him, her face unreadable. “You’ve been running a long time, boy,” she said softly. “But sometimes, you have to stop. Let the answers come to you.”
Reynevan frowned, uncertain. “What do you mean?”
The hag smiled cryptically. "You’ll see. In time."
With that, she gestured for him to sit, and the weight of his journey felt heavier than ever.
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