TheBoba07

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.”

((How do you respond?))
 

Velkrum settled onto the cushion, his bones weary from the long journey. The air in the tent was thick with the smell of earth and damp stone. The crone’s gaze pierced him like a sharpened blade, unyielding, as though she saw into the deepest parts of his soul.

"I did not expect to lose so much," he said, his voice low and heavy, a storm of grief behind the words. "I came to this place out of... necessity. I’ve sought something, though I did not know what..."

He paused, his fingers curling into fists at his side, and the scent of blood filled his nostrils, the memory of it fresh.

"My kin... slaughtered," he growled, the words bitter on his tongue. "The orcs came like wolves in the night. My home was burned, my family torn apart, left to rot in the dirt. My mother, my father... gone. I escaped with naught but my blood and bones, and the hunger for vengeance. I must grow stronger, for the day when I return and make them pay."

He leaned forward, locking eyes with the crone, his voice steady, but the weight of his past pressing hard on his chest. "I know not why I am here, but it calls to me, like the storm calls to the sea. Ye knew I would come. Ye have been waitin'. Tell me—what fate binds me to ye?"