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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 walk to cushion, being grateful for the hospitality. "You've... been expecting me?" I respond inquisitively. "It must of been a blessing from the Aengul of Courage. My name is Henry, although you must already know of me if you were to expect me, but I am a Templar.", I lower myself onto the cushion, and cross my legs. "I have been sent on a journey by the Templar Brotherhood of the Holy Aengul of Courage, Malchediael. Whilst not a lofty goal, they would see me assist to clear this world of evil and bring about Malchediaels goal to fruition." I look upon the old lady, curious of how she was expecting me. "While i hope you don't mind my curiosity, tell me, exactly how did you expect me?". The lady let out a half smirk, then quickly had a serious look upon her face, "I saw it, I saw your journey, your tribulations, your pain. I saw it in my dream." She burst out laughing, raising her frail hand shakily and slowly raised her finger and pointed it towards me. Struggling to get words out between laughter and gasps for air, she spoke "You, young one, have much to learn in the ways of this world. Your naivete shall cost you dearly." Stunned, I stared at the hag, terrified by the thoughts of what she had seen. I then hear a rustle outside the tent, the old hag's laughter must have attracted attention of someone. I wield my sword in my right hand, a single handed arming sword designed for horseback, but used on foot, and I wield a wax torch in my left. I look around for the creature or person to cause the rustle. Not soon after i hear a blade being drawn from the scabbard, as I look to the direction of the sound, I see a poor man holding an old sword. I go to block, but without enough time the only thing I am able to do is slow the weapon. I move my left hand in front of the blade, and i feel it bite. It bites deep, and cuts my ring finger, my pinky finger, and a large swath of my hand alongside it. In panic I scream, the most gut wrenching, foul scream, but trying to stay true to the guidance of Malchediael, I do not cower from this adversary. I smash the pummel of my blade into his head, and from his weak stature, it was enough to knock him out. I grab a stick off the ground and bite into it, as a pull the torch from my left hand and cauterize the wound, screaming in agony. The wound was closed, but needed proper disinfection to stop any of the four humors from being imbalanced. The old hag was sill cackling, and more attention was the last thing i needed right now. I climb onto my horse weakly, and whisper to it, "C'mon boy, lets get to the next town.". It starts to trot away through the night, and I soon after pass out from the pain. Next I awoke, I was in a room, a wooden room lit by candles, my wounds dressed, and my horse gone. I get up and look around, seeing nothing of the gear I once knew, nor of the steed I once rode. I looked for it to no avail. It appears as though I was delivered to a town in the mountains. With no gear, I must still continue my journey for the Templars, and whilst doing so, I must also look for my horse.

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?)) Ducking my head, I wearily rest on the cushion, slow to answer the stranger's question. I've not been one to spit out my life story to strangers, nor should any person be like such for that matter, but as I look upon her frail old eyes I see something beyond her dirty veil, a longing for adventure plagued by tragedy. Feeling motivated to give this woman some much needed interaction, I tell her about my happenings in the swampy, smell town," I come to do what is just, what is right and what is peaceful; I've come to help your people, after being so brutally molested by the wicked King's faceless war."