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?))
I was born in a small town between Marna and Sutica. My father was a soldier and my mother was an assistant to the town apothocary. As a result, I have some basic knowledge on herbs and am better than average with a sword. One day when i was 14, my father was called upon by the local Lord to fight a battle. He never made it back. My mother and I were left by ourselves. 3 years later, I left home to travel around the world. My mother also wanted me to see the world, so leaving wasn't too sad. I travelled east, and visited many towns, but also had my fair share of near fatal enounters. Hence my scars. I realised early on that I didn't have nearly enough money, so I began taking on small mercenary or protection jobs. After I completed my last job, I heard about someone asking about me by name. So I came here. And here I am.
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