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.”
Dillan wanders up with tense shoulders, taking a seat on the cushion and crossing his legs awkwardly as he clears his throat "i uh- i dont really know to be honest. ive been... wandering for at least a couple months by now, my village was raided, burnt to the ground and i had to make my escape." he shrugs as he once more clears his throat and adjusts his sitting "my family was slaughtered, most of my friends too, id be shocked to find out any made it. i was never much of a warrior, unlike my brothers and sisters. i was a disappointment to my parents, being thinner than my siblings and not as... ecstatic about fighting as them. i always thought of myself more as a poet, a man or art, not war. no one really understood how i viewed the world in my village... but of course my artistic nature didnt help them when those orcs attacked, all i could do was try to take the children as far away from them as i could, and i failed at even that... on my journeys ive started practicing my fighting abilities, never again will i fail to defend those i love, i vowed that to myself." he quickly goes quiet, catching himself in his ramblings, he scratches the back of his neck slowly as he looks to the ground, speaking more quietly as he starts once more, "im- my names Dillan. Dillan Cuay, nice to meet you."
