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?))
Jakob hesitates for a moment, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword out of instinct before he relaxes. The damp air clings to his cloak as he lowers himself onto the cushion, the soft creak of leather filling the silence.
“My story?” he says, voice low but steady. “It’s not one I planned to live. One day I woke in a world that wasn’t mine, in blood and smoke, with no name that belonged here. They called me stranger—and maybe they were right.
”He glances around the tent, the candlelight flickering in his violet eyes. “Since then, I’ve fought, bled, and built. A town now bears my crest, a title hangs on my shoulders—but none of it feels like destiny. I didn’t ask for this world, yet it keeps testing whether I deserve to stay in it.”
His gaze sharpens, curiosity edging into it. “So tell me, old one. If you’ve truly been expecting me… then what exactly have you been expecting me to do?”
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