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?))
"Oh, who? me?" Axios would point to himself, clearly confused. After she confirms it was him she was talking to, he'd ask "Who are you, and how do you know me?" visibly deepening in his confusion, now gaining more questions as to when he started. His body would tense, believing this to be some sort of attack or trick by a thief or something of the sort. He was unfamiliar with the land, he put his hand on his dagger he keeps in his boot, ready for an attack, but an attack never came. He'd look up, slightly embarrassed, but stubborn still, He'd ask "what do you want from me?" He'd think back on his time wandering in the forest, where he had to fend for himself. He remembers fleeing from his village as it was burned to the ground by orcs. He remembers being followed. For the past 5 years, he only knew to run.
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