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 on the west coast of the continent. I was raised by a loving mother and father. My father was a soldier and my mother an apothocary assistant. At the age of 14, my father was drafted to fight in a war for our lord. We never saw him again. at age 17, I decided to leave my hometown to explore the continent. My mother was also keen on the idea and gave me some starting funds. I travelled east, going from town to town. within a few weeks, I realised my meager funds would not be nearly enough. I had to work. I took whatever work I could. due to my parents, I had some knowledge of herbs and some basic skills with a sword. It was during these jobs that I avoided death and obtained my scars. Since I had to take whatever job I could, I would often take dirty jobs. This more often than not involved killing someone, and because of that, I chose to wear a mask so no one could see my face. That's how it was. I would go to a town, do some jobs and save money, then move to the next town. I did this for around 5 years. Then I heard a rumour about someone asking for me by name. I was curious, so I decided to find out who it was. And that brought me here, to you.
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