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?))
The smell of algae and decay filled the nostrils of the attentive youth as he moved under the lit canvas. He'd observed each inch of the tent and its contents before his eyes met the figure of the elder with a flinch. He remained silent standing with his back to open air as the raspy voice invited him to seated comfort. For a moment he felt like mentioning how being addressed as 'You' could mean this old lady did not really know who she was expecting. He decided against it, and instead entertained the old swamp dwelling host. He crouched at the cushion, resting on his knees.
"A story yet to be written. I am quite young." Dunwin started, stating the obvious- "But why not. My family are people of the land and sword, and I am likely destined to tend to the earth to provide for family, soldier and mankind." He paused before concluding, "Simple starts for any young man, I suppose."
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