Charles Velun Chivay

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?)) The masked stranger lowered himself onto the cushion, the steel mask concealing any expression that might betray the mysteries beneath. The flickering candles cast eerie shadows on the walls as he began his tale in a low, deliberate voice. "I come from a land shrouded in secrets, where the echoes of forgotten battles resonate through the steel that adorns me. My journey led me through haunted forests and desolate plains, driven by a quest for redemption and understanding. The mask, a silent companion, bears witness to the weight of my past, a past I aim to unravel in the murky waters of this forsaken town. Legends spoke of a seer, wise and ancient, who could unveil the threads of fate. And so, here I am, seeking answers in the dim glow of your candles, hoping the swamp's secrets might intertwine with my own." The old hag's eyes gleamed with a knowing light as if the whispers of the swamp had foretold his arrival.