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?))
“Aye… the Judge.”I taste the title like old blood, bitter and familiar.“That is what they named me after the clan fell. After I clawed my way from the ashes and walked among the corpses of those I once called kin.”My hand drifts to the hilt of the axe at my back, fingers brushing its runes.“I learned then that death alone was not justice.”“Justice is knowing why a blade must fall.”I lean forward, tusks glinting in the candlelight.“So I became the one who looks into the hearts of my foes. The one who listens to their truths, their lies, their sins.”The candles brighten, flickering wildly—responding to the shift in me.“To the merciful, I grant mercy.”“To the honorable, I grant a warrior’s end.”“But to the cruel… the wicked… the ones who burn villages and steal futures—”My eyes narrow, glowing with a grim resolve.“I judge them.”“And I execute them.”A shadow passes over my face, carved from grief.“Do not mistake this for righteousness.”My voice lowers.“Each life I take weighs on me. Each judgment scars me.”“But if I do not bear this burden, who will? Who will stand between the innocent and the monsters?”I straighten, massive and solemn, the embodiment of wrath chained by conscience.“Yes… I am the Judge.”A final breath leaves me—steady, cold, certain.“And I am here because someone—something—is coming.”“Something even I may not be worthy to judge.”
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