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?))
Example: (delete this)
Lithua tilts his head slightly in confusion, but after a moment of hesitation gives the crone a small nod and sits down. "how about a trade?" he asks with a slight smile. "My story for yours." he states. Without waiting for the woman's response, he starts. "I grew up far away from here, and per my parents expectations, grew up learning my fathers trade, smithing. I enjoyed it, but the metal didn't sing to me like it did to my father. Watching him work, the metal almost seemed to shift itself into the form he wanted with little prodding. My mothers brother, my uncle, was a practiced hand at woodworking and masonry, rest his soul, so I went to learn from him for a bit much to my Fathers disappointment. Again, I enjoyed it, but it did not speak to me. On it went. Leatherworking, weaving, brewing, painting, I've experienced more professions than most could find in a small town at once. Back home they actually started calling me Jack because of it. Jack of all trades, master of none." Lithua gives another slight smile. "So, now I journey, looking for my own craft or project to sign to me" Lithua lets out a pent up breath with this final sentence. "Now." Lithue gives a brief pause, his tinted eyes practically glowing with mirth. "I believe it is your turn."
Recommended Comments