Beartod

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?)) With a curious lift of his brow, Vladyslav delicately settles onto the cushion, kneeling. Adjusting his posture, he straightens his back and rolls his shoulders. Anxious, his fingernails tap on the rough wooden table until he breathes in deeply through his gut, exhaling a profound sigh. "If you insist, ma'am." Maintaining a composed demeanor, Vladyslav begins his narrative. "I was one of three children, the youngest brother to my two elder sisters. I hold them, along with my mother and father, very dear to my heart." He takes a moment to close his eyes, reflecting on his loved ones. "It's with great sorrow that I must confess all but my mother have passed due to-" concealing a scowl with a cough, he continues, "due to those corrupt with power." With a melancholic gaze, Vladyslav offers a polite smile to the elder woman. "Even with all my prayers and seeking justice, I cannot bring them back. So, by exploring the world beyond my small village, I hope to find a way to mend my grieving heart."