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?))
"Expecting me? Unlikely," Vaestar says curtly, eyes darting quickly around the tent. "But alright I'll tell you," He says slowly getting on one knee only barely even touching the cushion before looking up at the old woman, "but I want to know your story afterwards." Waiting a beat before moving on, "Firstly my name is Vaestar, in truth there is little to tell, I'm a simple traveler only wishing to see evermore of the world, both its natural beauty and its peoples." he says while becoming a bit more comfortable in his stance though still with one foot flat on the ground.
"Before my travels I lived with my grandfather, I grew up with him, in a small hut in the wilds hunting and foraging to live, a good simple life." He says casually gesturing with his left hand, eyes always moving; peeking through the tears in the tent. "I use those skills now in my travels.” Before his death he told me that his only regret is that he hadn't shown me the world himself. Ever since I have been on the move, I like to think that through what he taught me he is showing me the world." He pulls out a large book, "so tell me of your life, if it's alright it would go in my journal as many stories from strangers have before."
