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?))
Nicoloso would smile and nod to the old woman, tottering over to the seat and slowly falling into it with a grunt. He would fold his hands on his stomach, raising an eyebrow at the crone. "Expecting me? It must be a slow day indeed if you've been looking forward to my company." He would chuckle to himself and run a hand across his balding head. "Let me see... I was born in a small village along a stream splitting off the Petra, simple folk making a living on wheat and wood. Kept ourselves from the wars and cities when we could, didn't care much for conflict since my father had served as a sergeant to a knight in his youth. Taught me young there was no glory in fighting like the nobles go on about, and most things weren't worth the scuffle in the first place." He would adjust himself on the cushion, pulling up a small gourd tied to his belt and taking a sip. "I've treated enough injured men and spoke at enough wakes to believe he was right on that one. Apparently the Creator, blessed be, agreed with him. Certainly didn't give me a knight's build did he?" He would chuckle again, patting his prodigious stomach. "No, not the warriors life for me. I found peace and quiet suited me fine. A good book, a good beer, a good life. Joined a monastery, got pretty good at making the first two, led to the third. Would have stayed there my whole life if Father Brachev hadn't stopped by. A good man that one, walked the world and spoken to all it's people. Decided in the end we weren't all that different. When he left I figured I'd see what he was on about, might as well see all His work before I go to meet Him you know. Would be disrespectful to not admire it all." He would rest the gourd on his stomach, looking back towards the entrance of the tent. "I've been walking ever since. Staying in villages and towns to rest, can't go too far like this can I? Hah! No, ever onward though. Help who I can, when I can, where I can. So many people, so little time. It's been beautiful." He would smile for a moment and then look back to the hag, the embodiment of contentment. "I think that's all there is to me really. What of you my dear?"
