toastwbutter_

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?)

Cross is taken aback. Who is this woman and why does she know me? He looks around for others, checking his blind spots before having the woman meet his gaze. "My story?" He pauses for a brief moment. "If you're in search of heroics and bravery you're asking the wrong man". He pauses again waiting for a response, his conflicting feelings eating at him. "Fine" he starts. "You've convinced me, I will tell you". He sets his sword down and goes to sit, his armor clangs against itself. "It's not every day you get to recite the story of a sinner. It all began a very long time ago, 25 years to be accurate". He fidgets with his strap on his chest plate. "A boy was born into poverty, struck by the harsh realities of life before even gaining consciousness". He interlocks his fingers. "His very first memories were of being surrounded by dirty and scrawny children like himself being served this mysterious slop for every meal. Looking at it made him gag but it had nutritional value so he was bound to swallow whatever he could get. This life wasn't one he wanted to live. Everyday he would spend his free time looking out the window at those who pass by. Envy ridden he began to hate and hate until it was settled. He was going to run away in search of a life better than he was given. Of course he didn't want to be king of the world, but something so much as gravy on his mysterious slop was all he could ask for. He devised a plan by the age of 12 to finally escape after nearly 9 years of confinement. His freedom taught him a few things. Nothing in life is handed to you, no matter how kind you are it never repays. Karma is nothing but a child's belief". He looks back at the woman to see her reaction so far only to be met with the same stoic face he saw on her when he started. He wonders if he should continue. He bites his tongue as to not speak but ultimately decides to continue, he needs this. "The child found pleasure in the thrill of pickpocketing after witnessing it done at a professional level while on the streets. He practiced everyday on passerby's getting better and better. Of course it was a trial by fire, nothing like earning a few beatings and raising hell as well as a reputation. There he learned if he wanted to be a successful thief he'd have to live a nomadic lifestyle. After a few years stealing and pawning finally earned him serious money. He used the money he earned to purchase meals and access into the public bathhouses. Unfortunately this high life would catch up to him. Word spread around there was a thief lurking among the commonfolk. Searches began for the thief. Laying low for a while money became scarce, enough to be unable to afford inns. And back on the street he went. He decided to cross sea's, a decision he began to appreciate. New lands promise new targets. By age 19 he was stealing on grander levels from expensive jewelry from stores and homes to something as petty as booze from those same homes wine cellars. His biggest score was raiding a foreign explorers armor from his camp as well as his weapon. But during this heist he was caught by the very same explorer who tried retaliating against the boy. Unfortunately a life would be lost that day and the boy was never heard from again. The armor now belonged to a murderer and there the boy died and a new man was born. There lie the adventurer in a pool of his own blood stabbed to death by his own sword". Cross picks up his sword and drags his gloved hand along the blade. "The murderer could never get the stain of the adventurers blood off the blade. A constant reminder of what a monster he was, but it was too late to take it back. The monster would wait outside of churches but wouldn't dare go in. After a few more years he grew to be 25 and learned to accept his new form. He was no longer deserving of human rights for he had no respect for the one determined to protect himself. After fleeing the island he found himself in a new island with new faces. No one would be looking for him, no one would know him or what he's done. Cowardly right? The monster wears the armor to bask in his own shame as to pay homage to that adventurer. Now he lurks the land in search of a peaceful place to live out the rest of his days". He put the sword back in it's sheathe. "But I'd say that's enough of silly stories. I wish you the best in your remaining years, and I'd like to thank you for listening". He stands up and before exiting he turns to the woman. "I forgot to mention his name, Cross, Lariat Cross