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 come from a long-line of royal blood of a family that has been forgotten. I am looking to rekindle the flame my family once had shining over the world. We once had the world in the palm of our hands, and it was taken from us from those seeking our power. Now our story has been erased from history. Only remembered by those who took what was once ours. I'm looking to right the wrongs and bring respect to my family's name. Even if I can't regain the power my family once held, I want to leave a lasting impact on the world, so the name Targaryen can once again be known by all those near and far. I am the last of my kin. It is my duty to go on.
