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?)) ''You've been expecting me..?'' Wily says, hesitantly sitting himself down on the cushion. ''I must say, i did not expect to run into much hospitality around these parts..'' The tattered man exhaled, clearly exhausted by what seemed to be a long and perilous road- though his guard was still up. ''I used to soar the seas aboard my captain's ship. We weren't contracted to anyone.. We were free, as... Freelancers. We did as we saw fit, took whatever we wanted, and drank whenever we wanted.'' Despite reminiscing what he hinted to be good memories, Wily's face remained grim. ''Though.. I suppose my choices were bound to have consequences, at some point. My comrades are dead, their hides rotting atop the seabed.. And as for my captain, well.. I do not know.'' Cyprian paused, suddenly overcome with a horrid mix of grief and anger. As if overwhelmed with guilt, he paused for a minute- his face now resting between his dirtied hands. ''I- i never expected that the man i looked up to for so many years would agree to such an outrageous offer. He sold us off- all of us. I may very well be the only one left alive, although it is only by sheer luck. I awoke on a shore, merely a few weeks from here.. I expect they left me for dead. Though i am merely alive.. With not a copper to my name.'' Wily clearly left a lot of questions and details up for interpretation- although his memory was most likely faulty, by this point.
