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?))
“Oo’ello… I’m Dawn Akatana. You may recognize me from my father — he is a woodsman from the village east of here. Mother told me he visits often.”
“No, I mean your story, the whole thing.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time at the very moment for my whole life story, but I can tell you why I am here, at the very least.”
“Do just that, then.”
“As I’ve said, my father is one of the foresters who lives in the village east of here. It is normal for him to come back with splinters and bruises, but about two months ago he started to come home more and more beat up than usual. It started with a scratch until about a month ago, when he came back more purple than tan. The swelling was horrible. He ended up falling asleep for three days before waking up, eating half the village’s grain, and then stumbling back to the forest to work. He still has yet to return. Mother fears the worst — that either wolves or monsters have gotten him. I have not yet given up. I came here to make money for Mother and me, as well as gather clues about my father’s condition and whereabouts. I have wood and charcoal to sell, and if someone in the village needs help, I will be available for a few days.”
“What work could a brat do!”
“I may not look it, but I am kin to these forests and good with my hands. Since I was a boy, I have worked with Father to collect wood and sell charcoal. When I was younger, I had the opportunity to learn reading, writing, and basic math, but I am far from being educated. I went through an apprenticeship at the Craftsman’s Guild, where I learned to work sand and flame into glass. I also built my own house from the wood I collect in the forest. I am confident in what I have done — from mining to craftsmanship, to even a small amount of stewarding.”
“A hot shot, are you?”
“Far from it, but I’m hoping to be brawn enough to keep Mother fed.”
“You’re brain enough to keep at least yourself fed. Keep up your wits, lad — they’ll do you good ’ere.”
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