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?))
He pulls his hat low, over his brow, the brim shielding his eyes from the flickering candlelight, casting a shadow on his eyes. His scent.. That of damp earth and mud stuffs up the air, matching his mud soaked, tattered shawl. "I don’t come looking for company," He begins, voice low and steady, "but sometimes the past catches up, and this place… it’s where I’m told some ghosts linger." His eyes wander around the tent, taking in the shadows that dance on the walls. "I'm here to find the bastard who did this to my face." Leaning forward, he meets the hag’s gaze with a quiet intensity, the candle illuminates his disfigured nose. "I was told you'd be waiting for me, that you'd know why I came. Personally, I don't buy it, but I figured this was my only recourse." His fingers curl into a loose fist, that falls to his side. He takes a slow breath, the candlelight catching the scars on my hands, and up his forearm. "If you want my story, know it’s one of mistakes, but these mistakes I’ve paid for. Though, I didn’t come here just to talk about the past, I came because I was told you had answers. And if you've been expecting me, then maybe there's some merit to those claims." His voice drops to a gravelly whisper. "So, tell me, what do you see when you look at me?"
Dane, known now as The Tarnished Star, was once a sworn swordsman and enforcer for a frontier lord tasked with maintaining order in the outer territories. For years, he carried out arrests, hunted bandits, and collected debts in the lord's name, earning both fear and reluctant respect from those who lived on the fringes of civilization. He wore an iron badge shaped like a star, an emblem of authority, though its shine faded with each job that crossed the line between justice and cruelty. After being ordered to lead a raid on a defenseless village that had refused to pay tribute, Dane finally broke ranks. He cast aside his title, abandoned his post, and vanished into the wilderness, leaving behind both his badge and reputation. Now a wandering sellsword, he takes whatever work he can find, tracking, bounty hunting, escort duty. Though he keeps to himself, he still carries the rusted badge in his pack, a reminder of the life he lost and the choices that still haunt him.
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