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.”
Thorne inspects the hag, an almost surprised look takes his features as he begins to speak, the Hag thinks he must he a Highlander. "And you are what, a witch?", his response isn't necessarily cruel, but more cold than the hag expects. "Whatever, you want to hear my story? How I got here?" He scoffs, almost as if he's annoyed to be asked this, "I've no family and no home; never had any and never cared for one. The whelps who conceived me back in two-eleven must've dropped me off at that orphanage's doorstep and never looked back." He stretches his arms over his shoulder, they aren't exaggeratingly strong but certainly average features for the lonesome traveler, "Not like the orphanage cared much more for me anyway." He looks up at the witch, his gray eyes nothing but a pit of calculating mass attached to his skull. "They couldn't even keep me in the walls of that place as a mere toddler- escaped multiple times from what they told me," Thorne's demeanor seems harsh when talking of the orphanage in which he was raised in. He groans at the memory of one particular story, "One time as a tiny freakin' kid they just let me out of the building on my lonesome, the dolts." "I'm not exactly sure what happened, don't exactly have the memory from way back then," Throne looked at the hag with a glare, "just ran around the forest or something, they caught me about a week later. Apparently gave quite the freight to the dullards." Thorne sighs, "That's how I got my name, Thorne. Apparently I must've ran through some roses or something because I was covered in the things when they found me." "Even further, those pathetic caretakers joked around that I was 'cursed' while I was out. Something about being, 'devoid of emotion' or something," Thorne really doesn't get it, the hag can tell the man isn't cursed, just generally apathetic and sociopathic. Thorne's face contorts into disgust, "Just because I am not some mindless, emotional flesh-bag doesn't make me cursed." The hag has seen this from a few, she knows the truth, the man is devoid of emotion. "My story as you say? My motivation? I suppose all it is to find the motivation to get from one day to the next." Thorne cracks his neck harshly, "Are you happy now? So tell me, what's so special about you, witch?"
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