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?))
-----------------------------------
“A legend holds that Cinders are defined as partly burned coal that, while not a flame, have the potential to burst into a raging inferno. They are small, and while appear insignificant, have every component needed in order to burn down cities and nations. A Cinder is the spark of change, a spark of death followed by the flourish of life.” Keiren says with an exhale of her breath.
"My father told me that once. He dreamed of a reality where I would be catalyst of change, the one to make it out and leave our nest of shackles..." Her eyes drift the figures and to the crackling fire to her left. "There are times I question whether he was right, or if he was stupid... To answer your question, my story has hardly begun and it is much far from being finished."
