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?))
I enter the dimly lit tent, my hulking form filling the space. The old hag's words catch me off guard, her recognition of me unsettling. I lower myself onto the cushion, my rough hands gripping the edges tightly.
"I am Stir Kazin'Kul, a 31 years old male orc," I state firmly, my voice echoing with a deep, menacing tone. "I have arrived in this dingy town seeking new opportunities for mayhem and destruction. Chaos and carnage are my calling, and I revel in the fear and respect they command."
I meet the hag's piercing gaze, a glint of anticipation in my eyes. "I am not here for redemption or a change of heart. I embrace my savage nature and seek to leave a trail of devastation in my wake. This town shall know the wrath of an orc who thrives on chaos."
The old hag's expression shifts, a mixture of curiosity and understanding.
With the hag's silent approval, I am ready to unleash my brutal might upon this dim and decaying world, leaving behind a legacy of fear and devastation.
With a powerful voice, I raise my fist to my chest in a salute, paying homage to my tribe, the mighty Kazin'Kul.
"For Kazin'Kul!"
