ry.s

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?)) Aiz instinctively holds her bag closer to her body, weary around the old lady. Though, seeing as she's been travelling for days and had no one to talk to for the past three weeks, she decided to take the stranger's offer. If trouble comes, well, it's a good thing she can think on her feet. She sits down next to the woman, subtly trying to move the cushion a bit farther. Just... in case. "Um..." she starts, looking at the floor, "I'm Aiz, and I'm a journalist. Well, trying to be." She takes a quick glance at the woman if she has any reaction. Nothing. Aiz continues. "I just left my hometown. Uh, see, it used to just be a hobby, but then I got really into it. I would make my own little newspaper for my town, just small local news and gossip. Nothing really happened there much. I was friends with the one person who managed the local paper, though they're... gone... now. But it was because of them that I found my passion in it." Now that Aiz had started recounting her dreams and past, she couldn't stop. She loves telling a good story. "My parents tolerated me; I was a child still. But time can't help but pass, can it? I soon grew up into, well," she gestures to herself, "me. The person I mentioned earlier passed away, and nobody took up the job. I really wanted to, but that business never made any money. My town was so small that they only released three editions a year. My parents berated and criticized me, telling me I should just farm or bake or smith. Something that rakes in a consistent amount of money." Aiz's breath catches in her throat. She didn't realize that she didn't take a breath during that spiel. She looks up at the tent ceiling, trying to ignore the wetness in her eyes. "So I left. I couldn't live there anymore. I want to tell people's stories and share them with the world. I want to find somewhere interesting, so I can stay there and I-" Her voice cuts off as her stomach starts rumbling. Aiz blushes in embarrassment. "...Speaking of... may I have some food?"

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?)) Aiz instinctively holds her bag closer to her body, weary around the old lady. Though, seeing as she's been travelling for days and had no one to talk to for the past three weeks, she decided to take the stranger's offer. If trouble comes, well, it's a good thing she can think on her feet. She sits down next to the woman, subtly trying to move the cushion a bit farther. Just... in case. "Um..." she starts, looking at the floor, "I'm Aiz, and I'm a journalist. Well, trying to be." She takes a quick glance at the woman if she has any reaction. Nothing. Aiz continues. "I just left my hometown. Uh, see, it used to just be a hobby, but then I got really into it. I would make my own little newspaper for my town, just small local news and gossip. Nothing really happened there much. I was friends with the one person who managed the local paper, though they're... gone... now. But it was because of them that I found my passion in it." Now that Aiz had started recounting her dreams and past, she couldn't stop. She loves telling a good story. "My parents tolerated me; I was a child still. But time can't help but pass, can it? I soon grew up into, well," she gestures to herself, "me. The person I mentioned earlier passed away, and nobody took up the job. I really wanted to, but that business never made any money. My town was so small that they only released three editions a year. My parents berated and criticized me, telling me I should just farm or bake or smith. Something that rakes in a consistent amount of money." Aiz's breath catches in her throat. She didn't realize that she didn't take a breath during that spiel. She looks up at the tent ceiling, trying to ignore the wetness in her eyes. "So I left. I couldn't live there anymore. I want to tell people's stories and share them with the world. I want to find somewhere interesting, so I can stay there and I-" Her voice cuts off as her stomach starts rumbling. Aiz blushes in embarrassment. "...Speaking of... may I have some food?"