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.”
Velistraee eyes the hag as he was unsure of her intensions. After a brief moment, he hesitantly sat down on the cushion and turned back to the hag, and began to recall his story.
"Stories... Stories. Right." Vel awkwardly began, but slowly recollected himself. It had been a rough past few days for him.
"Apologies- I do not remember much, for some reason. It feels as though my story is but distant echo's in a cave system. You can hear them, but you cannot understand them. From what i do know however, is some odd feeling. A feeling -- that i should be running from something. The blood then dripped on my gloves, and the daylight fading, as dusk came. I also remember a... guitar. For a few days straight, I couldn't stop thinking about a guitar... that damn guitar." Vel explained, though got caught on the last detail as he mentioned the guitar.
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