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?))
"Well, I'm not good with the details, but I'll give it my best shot. There isn't anything that is too exciting about the first 18 years of my life, I'm pretty sure you ask any young boy raised on a farm during their upbringing and you'll get the same answers, but maybe they will give you a different answer on what they got out of it. Some get discipline, others seek excitement, and then more might find peace in labor. It taught me that every process has multiple steps that take patience and attention. Whether you're lining up the crosshairs of your crossbow and waiting for an optimal moment to shoot, or fighting 3 undead in a cave at once, it's a process that takes time. "
"Anyways, little details like that could be explained and drawn out for hours so I'll spare you the mess. But what I did with these little details and lessons after I got off that farm made me who I am today. The day I left for adventuring is one I won't forget. My father didn't mind it me leaving, mother was unsurprisingly furious and worried, but father did the same thing when he was our age. Robbing us of making our own memories is something he couldn't live with. If me and my brother wanted to go on our own, then he wouldn't get in-between it. So, since I had no gear, he told me he wanted to show me something and to stay where I am."
"I waited for a minute and heard a lot of rummaging and grunting in the living room. Then a huge slam onto the floor, the house shook a bit, and I heard him call for me. Father had brought out this massive chest, it must have been 150 pounds. Inside was all kinds of trinkets and odd mementos. Like, what use is there for the hilt of a dagger or an empty bottle mead? Then there was this whip with mom's name etched into it? Just, all kinds of useless stuff. Anyways, the real deal was his old armor and long-sword back from his wandering days. The armor is a thick leather that's meant to act as a comforter for other armor on top of it, as you can see it on me now. It's worn and dulled, but it gets the job done if I happen to catch a blow. It fits like a glove, back then and now. There was also this mask he had, I think it's made of bone but whenever I tried to ask any questions about it, he just told me to not worry about it. It's comfortable, protects my face, and looks cool, and that's about all I need to know, even if the origins are... unbeknownst. I struggled putting on the gear and put my arm in the head hole but managed to figure it out. I then slipped on the mask, posed with the sword and faced father. He smiled; he must have seen himself in my eyes. He never wasted words, so he just wanted a hug. He always manages to squeeze me nearly to death with hugs, but this one was a lot calmer and more genuine, like he was holding something for the last time. After our embrace he looked at me while holding my shoulders, 'Good luck, my son. Don't forget us. Come back some day, this will always be your home.'."
"Those words... they're the first thing I think of every day... "
"Well. Afterwards me and my brother gathered our things, tried to calm mom down, gave our last hugs and goodbyes and went off in separate directions. We always promised to wander within the same province with hopes to meet each other randomly, and to meet up home once every new year to see mother and father. And since then, I have seen tons of things, conquered dungeons, impressed nobles, found love, lost love, found friends, lost friends. I've worked as a mercenary and defended important people and farmers alike. Things are tough, but never boring. I mean, here we are having this conversation right now; I don't even know who you are, and you seem to know me given the faces you have shown in reaction to my story. Since you seem to know me, did I get anything wrong?"
