koyru

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?)) Sacrosant Nepenthe saunters into the dimly lit tent, his towering figure casting a long shadow across the worn floor. His keen eyes lock onto the old hag, and a wry smile plays at the corner of his lips. With an air of casual confidence, he lowers himself onto the cushion the old hag gestures toward. He drawls, his voice a smooth and rumbling baritone. "I'd say curiosity brought me to this charming abode of yours." He chuckles softly, his gaze shifting momentarily to the flickering candles that dance in the air. Leaning back, Sacrosant stretches his long legs and crosses them at the ankles. "As for my story, it's a tangled tapestry of noble grandeur and the messier truths that lurk beneath." His tone remains relaxed, almost as if he's recounting an amusing anecdote. "I was a guardsman, you see. Duty-bound and polished on the outside, but the cracks in that facade began to show. The nobility's lofty ideals of racial purity started to rub me the wrong way." His lips quirk in a wry grin. "Can't say I'm much of a fan of those who play judge based on bloodlines." Sacrosant's gaze locks onto the old hag's, his relaxed demeanor belying the intensity in his eyes. "So, I wandered away from that glittering cage, seeking something real, something raw. A slum like this seemed like the perfect place to start." He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "And then there's you. Somehow, you knew I'd show up. Care to shed some light on that, my mystic host?" Sacrosant's laid-back posture belies the imposing presence he exudes, his words a dance of curiosity and command as he awaits the old hag's response.