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?))
"Hmm.." I ponder the question and its meaning as I study the tent and its contents. I deem it a non-immediate danger. "Well its a rather long one, but here it goes."
"My childhood was like any other on the shore, collecting shells, and playing around with the other kids, but I suppose you are inquiring rather about what came after."
"You see, I travelled a long time searching for meaning as my fathers craftiness did not wear off on me, I ran from home taking my lone set of armor that I barely managed to forge. I wondered town to town doing odd jobs and searching for that destiny, that I held onto as a kid. That's when the dreams started,... visions of places I couldn't quite make out but unfamiliar entirely, and this last one, this last one has seemingly led me to you..."
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