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?))
Her face tightened, unprepared to see another face in the darkness. Her eyes followed the dancing candles, quickly thinking over every possible scenario. "I'm looking for someone who was running in this direction, perhaps you've seen them?" She remembered the knife in her boot, grateful for its's presence. The smell of the tent brought back a memory, distant but ever so clear. The time she killed her cousin. She was graced with the ability to kill, or so everyone thought. She was raised in a respected family, with a normal life and friends. Her cousin was the monster everyone adored. He took what he wanted from the ones who didn't have anything to give. One day she grew tired of the behavior, she snapped his neck at only nine years old. She was place in a tent by herself so the others could make a decision on what to do with her, that's what this smell was. She was shunned, forced to become independent, believing this power makes her the monster. The only one who paid her attention was her uncle, who used her for her ability. Doing jobs for others in exchange for her life is all she's known, though she acts as a Robin Hood to the needy in the towns she has to travel to, in an attempt to gain part of her life back.
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