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?))
Example: "Expected me, did you?" He would spare a brief glance around the tent, growing increasingly uncomfortable yet locks eyes with the hag as he proceeds.
"Well, it's not much to say as much as I hate disappointing.. I was born in the warm deserts as with the rest of my Qalasheen brothers and sisters. Growing up in the environment I did, luxury was never an option for me. As a child it was only me and my father on the roads, I barely have any memory of my mother or the cause of her loss.. Either way, I spent the majority of my youth moving from village to village, farm to farm alongside my father doing what we did best; survive." He heaves a sigh before continuing with his story. "It didn't take long before my father finally found the end of his journey, finding a peaceful death amongst his loved ones unlike many other people I had encountered in my past. From there I was forced to survive on my own in the harsh deserts of where I was born, and it has been like such to this very day. Naturally, I follow in my fathers footsteps. I'll tell you this much, nobody bakes better pita than me - which is why I always encourage travellers to come visit my establishments and farms out in the deserts." He would scratch his chin some, unsure of where to proceed next.
"There's.. not much else to say. This is the life I live now - the only life I've ever known. A survivor, surrounded by survivors."
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