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?))
"I was born to a poor family in a fishing village. The village lord implemented high taxes, so working men like my father had to work from dawn to dusk. I don't know much about my mother, as she died when I was one due to smallpox. My father would go to work around 6:30 AM and come back around 9:30 PM. Because of that, I learned to be independent. I taught myself how to read, write, swim, fish, etc. As a boy, I would often go to the village square with all the other village boys and sit by the fountain. The place was often quiet, every now and then we'd get some visitors, but overall, nothing else. One day, when I was 10, one of the village boys decided we should play in the woods. Not too long after we entered, a black bear ambushed us and killed one of the boys. We all ran our separate ways. I ran by the creek and saw an old, abandoned, rotting boat. Seeing as I had no other option, I took a log (as an oar), got on the bot, and paddled downstream. What I didn't know was that the river lead to the ocean which my father caught fish in. I remember the look on his face, he was surprised, but ultimately proud. He jumped into the water and brought me onto his boat and paddled me to shore. After that day, we moved into the woods and made a living taking people to the other side of the river. In his free time, he taught me archery. I picked it up in no time, and pretty soon, you would often see me going to town with deer pelts. My father died when I was 16 due to old age. I mourned his death, and for the first time. I felt alone. One day, while I was hunting, I found an injured dog. It appeared to have an arrow in it's back left leg. I bought it home and nursed it. The dog and I bonded over this time, so I decided to keep him. I named him Marco (that was my father's name). When I was 18. I decided that I wanted to do some adventuring. I packed up everything I owned, Marco, 50 pieces of gold, 5 loaves of bread, my wooden bow, 10 arrows and a quiver. One thing led to another, and here I am."
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