Andyboy124

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.”

 

 Jerall takes a quick glance around the tent as he sits upon the cushion. He lets out a deep sigh as he meets the hag's gaze. "My name is Jerall. Jerall Hemy. I come from a small settlement in Auan that borders the Commonwealth of the Petra. My father was a smith and raised me alone. My mother, you see, died giving birth to me." Jerall looks away and stars at the ground for a moment before continuing. "He blamed me for my mother's death. He never wanted a child, but it was my mother's dying wish that he care for me until I was old enough to care for myself. So, that is what he did. He taught me his trade, how to use a blade and made sure I didn't go hungry. There was no love in it, though. It was a monotonous life, but I knew I had to learn as much as I could.  As I got older, though, my father would grow more antagonistic towards me." Jerall clenches his fists as he remembers the abuse he suffered. "How dare he treat me like I was just some burden. How dare he hate me for something I had no control over." He glares up at the hag, anger and hatred in his eyes. He then takes a deep breath and exhales in an attempt to calm himself. "One morning I woke up very early, grabbed a few provisions and stepped outside. The sun was just beginning to rise over the village. I took one last look around at the place that was my home and was disgusted." Jerall turns his nose up at the thought. "Some run down village filled with a dirty populace who would never amount to anything. I walked off and promised myself that I would become more, much more, than any of those wretches." Jerall finishes speaking and stands up. Before he can say his farewell, the hag lets out a chuckle. "Yours is a story I've heard many times," she sneers. "What makes you different? How are you better than any of those you left behind?" she asks him. Jerall looks her dead in the eyes, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. "They accept what they are and have no will to better themselves." He turns to leave, stopping just before he exits the tent. "I, on the other hand, will stop at nothing to get what I desire." Jerall's eyes are bulging with imagined riches and power as walks off into the distance.