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.”
My eyes narrow with wariness, wondering what interest the old woman had in me. I hesitate for a moment, then say, "I'm no one. Just a traveler."
The crone smiles, "Everyone has a story. Where do you come from?"
Then, deciding this woman could be trusted, I continue, "I come from a small village far away. No one knows my origin. My parents found me in the middle of a burning town. I was the only survivor. Because of this, I was named Drystan - meaning full of sorrow, because of the nature of my finding. My last name is Ashborn, as I was the sole survivor of the burning village. Since then, I've had a special gift for fighting and..." I trail off, wondering if I should let this woman know about my gift for fire magic. I decide not to tell her, and instead say, "...hunting. I left the town a few years ago, and have been traveling ever since then." I decide not to tell her about my role in recent rebellions either.
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