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 thank her for the warm welcome, take a seat and start to explain my backstory.
I was born into poverty with not much going on for me, but my father was a low level knight who would teach me the sword from a young age. I always thought it was fun to swing the sword around and hit the training dummy as a way to pass the time. That was until my father never came back from one of his missions, which changed my perspective completely. I start noticing the flaws in my movements, and start trying to understand the way of the sword. I am no longer satisfied by simply swinging around the blade on my own, I must seek opponents and improve my skills. I then left my home, taking the rusted sword my dad had left with me as the only sign of my previous life. I now wander around looking for the next challenge.
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