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?))
"Ave Brolfyor, I am afraid I cannot tell you much about me for I have forgotten most of it, including how I came to be here..." The wind bellows around the tent waiting for what the man will say next, "All I remember is my name and the old Thuadian tongue; sometimes I get dreams of the past, but none of them are good..." The old hag stirs in her seat for a moment before asking, "And what may those dreams be?" The man looks at her with forlorn eyes and says, "They are dreams of war-torn land, and bloody corpses all around me; if I had to guess I would say that some bandits invaded my ..home.." The man looks down at the ground,, catching his breath, before continuing, "Why... why do I have to get these dreams... why must they haunt me... who was I before I came here... do you know Brolfyor?" The man looks up at the hag and sheds a single tear before getting up and leaving the tent while saying, "Vale Brolfyor, I appreciate you letting me talk to you, I shall be on my way now..."
Recommended Comments