Zynxell

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?))

Colt eyes the old crone, instantly annoyed at the sight of her weak, sickly face. Colts dull, iron longsword resting on his shoudler, it was far too colossal to be stored on his back, previously stored on his horse Puntt, Colt always armed himself before stepping foot into a ghetto swampland town. His heavy feet sinking into the rotten and muddy ground. With a short huff Colt replys, "I have no time for you lady, next time you stop me for your worthless chatter... Ill swing this iron through your shoulder and leave you to bleed all over your shitty tent".

With that, Colt was off, heading to the nearest supply merchant to restock for his journey. Eventually, Colt returned back to the collapsing tent, for whatever reason unknown to him, maybe he felt a touch of empathy for the pathetic woman. With a heavy sigh, he sat himself down on the nearest stool. Colt met eyes with the hag and began...

"Not that I remember much of my childhood, I rode with a mercenary group for all of it... I never knew my mother, most likely story is that she was a towns local peasant and discarded me as soon as she could for a chance at a better life, although I dont know what she was expecting a mercenary band... Can I blame her... No".

Colt continued "Its a hard life for those not born into royalty, so who am I to judge someone wanting a better life for their son. My mentor was the groups eldest member, I believe his name was Darruk, he had me training with swords twice the size of me, and eventually... I was sent into my first battle" 

Colt stopped and stared for a moment, then rambled on, "I dont remember who we were serving at the time, I was roughly seven or eight years of age. But I do remember my first kill, I launched a crossbow bolt into the back of a spearmans skull, I remember every gritty detail as he dropped to the floor"

"We went on serving lords and armies until my 15th name day... Darruk had died long before, and I realised I had no reason or goal to stay with a band of misfits and cutthroats who live only for the pleasure of spending their coin on wine and food" 

"And ever since then, Ive done it alone, taking on bounties and other nefarious jobs to make ends meet"

Colt stopped and thought hard about where his life had led him, but there was no other life he would rather live, with a nod, Colt returned to his horse Puntt and continued on his way, hunting down whatever criminal he deemed fit to meet his justice.