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?))
Arbor smiles through a furrowed brow. "Have we met?" she asks, taking the offered seat, "I'm sorry, I'm no good with names. Even less, faces." They chuckle, settling in and crossing their legs in their seat.
"My story? So, how I got here?" Arbor clarifies, "It's not a dramatic or heroic story you're asking for."
He begins, fanning his face, "Well, for starters, I'm not from these southern lands. Been born up near Norland, where it's nice and cold. Used to snow, not hot, wet swamps." He chuckles again, "Lots of sun where I was born, glittered nicely against all that snow. I didn't live in a big city, of course, so I got to see all those lovely sights. My parents were farmers," Arbor gestures with a hand, "Old folk -- didn't want for much more than a good harvest. Nice enough folk, raised me well.
"Of course, since we lived out in the country, we didn't get much of a newspaper -- nothing about current events or the like. So, we got blindsided when a war crashed down on our little farm. I don't know if that war had any official name or nothing, like I said: out in the countryside, not much news got to us. But that war was fierce, I'll tell you that."
Her smile grew bittersweet as she continued, "Well, my parents didn't want anything to happen to themselves or me, so we packed up what we could and headed south to start anew -- hopefully without a war on our doorstep. Travelling like that, it's how I spent most of my life." Arbor pauses for a moment, staring down at the cushion, before continuing again, "My parents were old folk, though. All that travelling was hard on them, not mentioning the stress of having to move in the first place. Woke up one day and they were, well... you get the idea.
"Since then, I've been keeping up the travelling, trying to find a nice enough place to build up the old farm again. No luck so far," he jokes, though it would land flat. "Don't know why I'm in a swamp instead of something with more solid ground, but," he shrugs, "guess I was curious."
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