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.”
*A pause, as she made sure of one thing. The right place? Affirmative, before she began.*
"You wish to know of my story?" Inquired the Ronin.
"It is quite the long tale, but I suppose we have time."
I am relatively young. As a child I often prayed to Yekemar, as well as Dungrimm. I learned many teachings, and I am intending to explore the realm and attempt to bring peace, even through war if needs be. I must admit my tale is likely only beginning ma'am." She answered, as she remained seated.
"I learned more of a specific style of battle in my travels from the Elven race, yet I also took some inspiration from the remnants of Yong Ping. Their style fascinated me, for though crude, I see that their talents may be elevated beyond their baseline, as with all things. It merely allowed me to recognize such, but I am thankful for that."
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