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.”
Alex didn’t sit right away, he tries to read the hag's eyes, the question hangs in suspense for a moment but eventually, he lowers himself onto the cushion, slow, careful—never taking his eyes off her.
“My story?”
His counter question echoes off the walls of the tent, voice rough from too many nights spent speaking only to ghosts.
"My story."
A faint, humorless smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
“I was born a Marshals boy, we worked the stables of a small village out in the country, we didn't have much, it was just me, mam, father and my 2 sisters and my one brother. That night, I had gone out to drink, just in the tavern with some mates, ]it may have saved my life, but at what cost”
His jaw tightens, he can no longer meet the old hags gaze.
“We could see the bright light of the blaze from the tavern, it was just up the path”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped tight enough to whiten the ends of my knuckles.
“From what I'm told, a large group of bandits speaking an unfamiliar language, my family were brought out to the courtyard, they slaughtered the horses first, some had to be put out of their misery hours later. Then they murdered my family before torching the place, no stealing took place, just cold, calculated murder. I remember the smell most. Not unlike this bog.” I glance around the tent. “Burnt wood. Wet earth. Only sharper. Final. And missing a hint of bloodshed.”
A pause. Alex's voice lowers.
“We ran to the stables but there was nothing we could do, just wait till morning to find the bodies.”
Silence stretches, heavy as the swamp outside.
“When it was over, there was nothing left to inherit but the ashes of the people i thought would stick by me the rest of my life. I hear tales of my brother escaping, but i have heard no news of his whereabouts*”
I finally meet the old hag's gaze fully.
“Now i try to rebuild myself bit by bit, and maybe hear news of my brother someday.”
He sits back now, calmer.
“I’ve spent my years learning how to fend for myself, how to move on without others, how to get what i need without drastic consequence, but its no life i want.”
A small frown etches out, though quickly covered.
“And now I’m here. Because fate led me, for better or worse is yet to be decided.”
His eyes narrow slightly onto hers.
“So here’s mine, plainly told: I am the last of my family attempting be something in this world.”
A beat.
“And I intend to build something of myself whatever that may be.”
I tilt my head, studying you the way you studied me.
“Tell me, hag… do you see anything of my future?”
Or something worse?”
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