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.” Kura grabs the chair sitting, "Thank you, its been a good while since someone asked me a question like that." He says a slight waver in his voice, curious on why this woman wants to know my story, "Why might you want to know?" Kura leans back in the chair, awaiting a response the light of the lanterns glistening off his hair. "Why do i need to know why, its always fun sharing stories.' He then leans back again loosening up his muscles. "I guess, the first interesting thing that happened was when I learned how to fight." He gesture to the rapier on his hip, "My father taught me but disapproved of my weapon choice, he said 'Its not a real sword,' I now find that hard to believe."
