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?))
Stryk didn't recognize the hag at all. "There must- you...There's lots of other goblins, I don't recognize...You.."
She was quickly hushed, though without words. The hag was simply smiling.
"I'm not really comfortable...with you...Uhm, can I explore...Your tent?" Stryk said, trying not to sound sassy. When the hag nodded, Stryk quickly came closer, looking at various objects. Stryk didn't know what she was doing. Perhaps looking for a suspicious object? A spellbook?
But everything she could touch were just regular objects, specifically a gold teapot catching Stryk's eye.
"Mind if I make myself tea?" Stryk said calmly, while holding the teapot.
"What with?" The hag simply replied. Stryk couldn't reply.
After sitting down, Stryk looked up at the hag, a sort of freshness in her tired eyes. "Where should I begin?" she said aloud, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "Well... my story starts with a sense of longing. A longing to prove myself, to rise above the expectations others had for me." She leaned forward, her voice filled with determination.
"As a young goblin, I grew up in the shadow of towering orcs and formidable ologs," Stryk began, her voice tinged with both vulnerability and resilience. "My family was no different. They held high expectations for me to conform to their strong and aggressive ways. But I was different. I was small, agile, and possessed an innate curiosity that set me apart from my peers."
She paused, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and determination. "It was a constant struggle to find my place. I was often mocked and belittled, labeled as weak and insignificant. The words pierced my heart, fueling a burning desire to prove them wrong. I became a tryhard, pushing myself beyond my limits, constantly seeking ways to improve and surpass expectations."
Stryk's voice grew steadier as she continued, her gaze fixed on the hag's piercing eyes. "I dedicated myself to the art of combat, tirelessly training day and night. I observed the orcs and ologs, studying their techniques and fighting styles. I admired their strength but knew I had to find my own path, one that would harness my unique abilities."
She took a deep breath. "I left home, bitter and upset about everybody in my village. My training meant nothing, it seemed. And I thought fighting and being a jerk would make me worthy."
Stryk's expression softened, revealing a vulnerability beneath her tough exterior. "But deep down, I still carry a sense of insecurity. The constant need to prove myself gnawed at me, creating an inner conflict. I yearn for validation, acceptance, and recognition."
"So I find myself here. To fulfil that need. I tell an epic tale, but, it means nothing, compared to what's ahead." Stryk said, waiting for the hag to reply.
