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.”
"I've faced foes in the shadowy forests and battled under the scorching sun," Fringunt continued, his voice carrying the weight of countless encounters. "Contracts have come and gone, each coin earned a testament to the mercenary's path. Yet, in the quiet moments between clashes, a yearning emerged."
His gaze fixed on the old hag, he confessed the deeper truth that stirred within him. "I've roamed these lands, seeking purpose," Fringunt admitted, a vulnerability in his words. "A desire to be part of something beyond the transient nature of mercenary life. I was with mercenaries my whole life, my father was one and i was his bastard he had with some woman in a tavern." frigunt begins to look a bit angry and disappointed "i was something like his squire. The day i became 16 he gave me a sowrd and said ,,Go find your own way" since then i saw death everyday. As i said now i want to be part of something bigger not just fullfilling contracts and kill people for money. I want to protect and to be proud of what i do."
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