Syloes

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?))

Silas laughs lightheartedly at the woman in front of him. "Well if a beautiful woman such as yourself asks, I suppose I can tell you." He takes a seat on the cushion smiling. "I was outcasted, from my village you see. Well not entirely, but I suppose I just didn't belong there anymore. . it felt strange.  It wasn't completely my fault, but I suppose that it is my responsibility to bear." He glances towards the ground then, a mournful expression on his face. "I was protecting my older brother. He's not really the fighting type. There were. . killings, in my village. My brother was a target. I had to do something. I was injured, and though my physical injuries healed, I. ." He balls up his fists. "I couldn't stay. Everything seemed to scare me, I wouldn't step outside, it wasn't right. My family, they're the ones who encouraged me to leave, and well. ." he gestures outward, "Now here I am." He chuckles, "I don't quite know what I'm doing, but I hope to meet people, and find a place for myself out here." He startles, realizing then that he must have said to much, "Ah, well enough about me." He leans forward, crossing one leg over the other. "Tell me, what's a beautiful thing like you doing out here?"