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.”
Cecilie cautiously unslings her pack and sits on the offered cushion, eyeing the old woman curiously.
"I don't know why you'd be expecting me - just passing through is all." she says, taking another glance at the candles floating above her. "I've been on the road for a while now, probably a few months - feels like more. My father's a smith, or at least he was before his hands started betraying him a few winters back. I was born somewhere between Aevos and here - a fresh babe for a fresh home. Guess there wasn't much else to do, not much use for a blade on the waves." As she talks Cecilie absent-mindedly pulls a wooden figure, half-carved, from a vest pocket and turns it in her hands.
"I guess I'm looking for somewhere I can call my own, eventually. Not yet, though. Still seeing what there is out there before I can think about setting myself down. Think I'd let myself down if I just stopped off at the first clearing and called it done. Might see about learning a bit of alchemy, too - hear tell that it can help to take full advantage of what the land has to offer."
Realizing that she's still fiddling, Cecilie stops herself and sets the figure down on her pack - the silhouette of a stag apparent in her work, but unrefined.
"So, what're the bones telling you today, Ma'am? Have I some grand destiny, some great Quest you'll sell me from your damp tent? A Paragon, mayhap? Or am I free as my father was to make and settle my debts, to make my own name? I don't see that I'd take up whatever you've to offer - " the young woman raises her eyebrow. "- unless you're just intending to warn me against the forest? It's dark, I'll give you that. But a fire and a blade will keep me warm and keep me safe."
After the crone has given her reading, Cecilie ducks out of the tent with her pack a little heavier, and her intent to continue her travels as sure as ever. Everywhere you go these days, there's some crooked hag or mail-clad knight trying to swear you to some allegiance or another.
She sighs as she steps off, glancing at the inn as she passes. "No coin for niceties. Another rabbit'll do tonight."
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