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p0sh

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  1. p0sh

    p0shz

    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?)) Locke feels uncomfortable as he slowly takes a seat on the cushion. " What is there to tell? " He replies to the old hag, chuckling nervously as he scratches the back of his head. " I am a boy with few talents to call my own and a mix of a human and a elf. At times, I worry that I am looked down upon due to this but mostly I don't care. I wish to be remembered, y'know. Be among the ones worth rememberin... " Locke would speak with something of a odd accent of his own, trying to sound more unique. " I like to mend blades and such and even some would call me a decent fighter-...Well at least back home in the "Battle Pit". " Locke continues and makes himself sit in a more comfy position. His unique accent had already disappeared, assumedly due to it being a bit hard to speak in. " Of course you might wonder what I am even doing here in the first place and honestly I couldn't really give you a honest answer because even I am unsure of what I am doing here, wasting my time with some old hag... " His tone became a bit hostile but it wasn't towards the lady in question but mostly of something in his face could give off that he had accidently dug up a bad memory of something. In his act of aggression towars the hag, Locke had stood up to leave. " I didn't find what I was lookin for anyways. " Locke says to himself as he leaves the tent.
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