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?)) Sorac stood just at the boundaries of the tent, his back to the tattered entrance of the tent. His demeanor was calm, as his gaze wandered and focused in on the Hag. He stands tall in the tent, casting his silhouette across the room. "I believe you are mistaken my lady, I am a nobody, could you possibly have the wrong person?" Sorac pauses for a second before continuing in a deep voice. "I am a glorified vagabond, an adventurer as most people know it by, I travel from place to place, without a home, to see my dreams come true."
Sorac takes a deep breath as if a burden is being lifted from his shoulders
"You see, I was always a nobody, came from a poor family, father was a stonemason who got paid very little for his work and mother was a gardener. I never realized how much of a struggle it is until they passed away. I was hungry and could barely afford to buy a couple pieces of bread and water, and thought that it would be a damn shame if I died without seeing more of the world. Then I just got up from my job as a stonemason and picked a direction, and followed the wind."
"Thank you for listening to the ramblings of a vagrant."
Sorac steps out of the boundary of the the tent and bows deeply.
