He was born in the Sovereign State of Hyspia, raised in a small coastal settlement among other Farfolk. His mother was known locally for her quiet spiritual practices, often speaking of spirits and unseen forces, though she never openly taught him magic. Growing up, he observed her rituals but never fully understood them, only gaining a general respect for the spiritual side of the world. His father worked as a trader, leaving him to grow up between both practical work and quiet reflection. He was not trained in combat and lived a mostly simple life. As he got older, he chose to leave home to see more of the world and understand the things his mother once spoke about.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
He steps inside without hurry, eyes moving once across the room before settling on her. He takes the seat like it was already his.
“Hyspia,” he says. “Quiet place. Teaches you to listen more than speak.” His gaze lingers a moment. “You’ve been here long?”
He folds his hands, still.
“I wasn’t sent here,” he adds. “And I didn’t lose my way.” A small pause. “Something brought me. That’s enough.”
His eyes shift briefly, taking in the room again.
“Most people ignore that feeling,” he says. “Or pretend it’s nothing.” A faint tilt of his head. “That’s usually a mistake.”
He looks back at her, steady.
“Tell me,” he says. “Do people come here to change… or to hide?”
A short silence follows.
...
“And which did you choose?”
He leans back slightly, expression unreadable.
“I’ve seen enough places to know what they are within a few days,” he continues. “This one…” he pauses, just for a second, “isn’t simple.”
His gaze sharpens just a little.
“If there’s meaning here, I’ll find it,” he says. “If not, I won’t pretend there is.”
Another brief glance around the room.
“Either way,” he finishes, “I won’t be wasting my time.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" The traveler stutters, tensing up. They eye the crone, then back outside the shack. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
Recommended Comments