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?)) Svaland's slides the helmet off his face, revealing a bushy beard and pale skin. His piercing blue eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim light of the tent, the moment they do, he scowls, his face filled with disdain and contempt. He ignores her command. Instead standing in the tents entrance, hand clenched on the pommel of his sword. "I don't know you. Nor do I trust you, crone." His voice is gruff and harsh. He shuffles his feet nervously, the sound of his armor shifting and clanking together fills the room.
Though something about the hags words tugs at the highlanders mind, he can't just walk away from this.
Svaland shakes his head in disbelief of his own actions. He relents to the Hags command, descending further into the dreary tent and promptly sitting on the cushion, his armor descends with a loud clatter. He begins speaking without further prompting, something about this hag... MADE him speak. "I... I am Svaland, Svaland Haraldsson..." He pauses, planting a gauntlet against his brow, not daring to meet the hag's gaze. "I was raised to be a warrior by my mentor, taught to fight from a young age." He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before continuing "When he grew old and weak, I took his armor and left our home."
He speaks with pride, his voice loud and confident "I hail from Norland, a warrior for coin. A sellsword." he nods, sure of himself. "I have come seeking wealth and glory. Should I die, let it be in battle, with a weapon in my hand. The Red Faith Commands it." With that, He tightly grips the red cloth attached to his breastplate, comforting himself.
Svaland's eyes gaze upwards, meeting the hags for the first time. Watching, waiting for a response.
[Character description because I couldn't fit it above!]
Before you stands a tall, beanstalk of a man! Lanky as he was, you could tell he was capable of fighting, a large scar stretching from his nose down to his jawline indicated as much. His bright blue eyes peered into your own, seemingly staring into your very soul. His skin was pale and fair, contrasted by a his scraggly, unkempt, dirty-blonde hair. You could tell he took great pride in his beard, it was well kempt and long. Three simple Wooden beads were woven tightly into his beard, complimenting it nicely. His armor was dented and grimy, it's obvious that it has been through years of battle and wear. Large cuts of bright red cloth adorn his shoulder and waist, unlike the rest of his armor, they are unsoiled. It seems he takes great effort in maintaining and caring for the cloth.
