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.”
Myra steps in wearily to the dimly lit tent and takes a seat on the red patterened cushion in front of the old hag, she squirmed uncomfortably under the gaze of the old crone. Myra spoke in a trembling voice, her mind cautious of the old woman, "My father died when I was two years old, my mother and I lived in poverty. My mother struggled to make ends meet, working long hours in low-paying jobs just to provide for our meager existence. I always dreamt of something more, something to fill the emptiness inside my heart left by my father but living in poverty taught me the true power of resilience and determination. I hoped that one day I would succeed and prove to myself that the world is bigger and brighter then the small confines of our house and that I did, I moved out and began my adventure through Aaun, I soon found myself in Valenza and have found my place among friends and some.. foes."
