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.”
((How do you respond?))
look sits down still trying to adjust to the pungent smells filling the air "my parents had always told me to accept every race no matter how weak, strong, short, ugly they are so that exactly what I did." he clenched his fists of anger but his face remained unfazed "until one day on my 7th birthday after I had come inside after playing with friends outside I found my brutally slaughtered family lying on the ground." as his fists loosen up he continues with his story. "after that I had to survive on my own I practically know the wilderness on the back my hand at this point." he looks at his rough scarred hands "I fought and I fought I went through hell." he lifts up his shirt revealing his well toned abdomen "at the age of of 16 I had already gotten an 8-pack from the manual labor I needed to do for survival. he then looked up at the woman with a determined look in his eyes in his eyes you could see the sheer willpower that he had "the only thing I can do at this point is to live on I'm grateful for the willpower I've been given or also I would be dead a long time ago it would be a shame to waste this precious gift I've been given."
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