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?))
Arthur plops down into the cushion, stretching a bit and glancing around at the surroundings, admiring the craftsmanship of the homestead despite the rugged and ripped fabrics. Great care must have been placed in ensuring the home remained standing. The candles itself added a hint of smoke to the taste of the air. Awkwardly glancing to her, eyebrows raised in a silent, happy surprise.
"Well, 'ma'am. I ain't fond a' talkin' to folks about myself. But for bein a kind lass and letting me in, I'll yabber on with it. Though, the story is drab and unimportant in the grand schemes of life."
He glances around, and picks up a stray few strands of rotten wood splinters, fiddling with them absentmindedly. He thinks more on himself. A few things were exciting; in his youth, a wolf attacked some cows, coyotes eating chicken.... Foxes getting to the geese, but beyond that?
"I was born a peasant, and knew my life would be a peasant from the get-go. No special name, no special talents and no true goal in life but the fields. My ma, Ysolda Mainsque; old, worn woman. She wasn't the nicest but kept me on th' right path. Pops, Kevan Mainscque, sold off to war when I was just barely walkin'. Th' average works n' fates for a commoner like I. Hometown? Wherever we had enough coin to settle and enough fertile soil to supply a house. Empire a' man was pretty good, lots of good land. Nice house too, but ma couldn't shake the loss of pops. Sure me lookin' like him didn't help."
Arthur takes a heavy, tired breath. Like walking through the marshes and overall environment was enough to hurt his legs pretty bad.
"Then there was The Kingdom of Norland. Decent. Nice. Terrible for crops though, so ended up deciding to trek back at The Empire a' man. Much better. Even got a whole religion there. Ma, Ysolda... She didn't make the trip. Passed halfway, left me what little coin and seeds she could. And I'm alone now. Don't plan on much, honestly. Just work, coin, and possibly hirin' guards when I got issues with wildlife or monsters."
Thinking back on it all, it genuinely wasn't anything surprising. Most people ended up victims of chance or having a lack of housing. Most likely he'd end up the same, or sold to combat like his father. A look of dismay settled in slowly, thinking of the death his father could have felt. Tragic, but not uncommon. Perhaps he would die the same. Hopefully without kin to leave behind.
"Been alone since. How about you? Fond of a life surrounded by swamp? Great for some fertilizers I bet."
As if to enunciate his point, he gestures out the tent to the smell of rot with a casual smirk.
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