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... d-don't know." Arasne stirs in her seat. "I woke up... and I don't seem to rememb-ber much of anything it seems. I remember fire... smoke... screams... but nothing else, it's all just a d-dark haze I'm afraid." There were a few tears in the poor girls eyes... she wiped them away, trying to hide them... she felt vulnerable and most of all, scared.
Arasne has little to no recognition of her past. Her family lost their home and passed away when she was a young age due to famine, she somehow being the only one to have survived. The last thing she remembers was a moment of fighting in the forest in which she was staying, men and women shouting and fighting as a fire broke out. Due to her frail and weak body, the stress and smoke caused her to black out.
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