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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
I turn to the cushion the old woman offered me, taking a seat as I get my thoughts in order. "I'm heading to the Kingdom of Norland, to become a part of the Ashguard. Since I was young, I've had a fascination with watching my father practice with a blade. He's told me a lot about how the Ashguard keeps the kingdom and her people safe and always on the right path, and it inspired me to join. My father said he would let me go only once I bested him in a duel. After years of rigorous training with a blade, in addition to learning the responsibilities of what it means to serve and protect from him, I was able to best him. I've been traveling to the kingdom for a few days now, so I hope to reach it very soon."
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