alatiel

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.” Patrick nods to the hag as he steps inside the tent -- he looks around and spots a lantern along with some degrading scrolls. He sits down, folding his legs. "I was hoping to find some work for the time being," Patrick tells the lady, his eyes focused on the grimy turf on which they sat, "I came from a town not too unlike this one, you see." He then gazes into the crone's eyes, continuing his tale, "Which is why I'm looking for work. There wasn't much to do where I'm from, and unless you're a soldier or a skilled worker, you're out of luck." Reaching over to his side, he grabs his satchel and begins to rifle through some papers of his own before piping up once more, "I want to be a scholar of some sort, but I don't have the money to buy anymore books or scrolls. Perhaps there's a job you need done?" He looks at the old lady hopefully, occasionally glancing at her own collection of papers. The hag cackles at his plea, craning her head upwards as she laughed. "No there's nothing -- well, actually, I suppose if you're good at identifying plants, you could gather some for me." Patrick frowns, shaking his head slightly before replying, "No, I'm afraid I'm no good with plants." She clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "Well is there anything you're good at? Come, tell me more about yourself." He sighs, picking at the grass sticking out of the floor of her tent, "I'm an Adunian, not that that's very important. My father was a lumberjack, as we were from a mountain town. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, though unfortunately I was never very good with an axe. I took after my mother more in that regard. She was always reading and singing to me when I was little. I thought one day I'd be a great troubadour and sing and play for all the great kings. That dream has past, however, as I'm not much of a singer myself. So then I thought I might join the town guard and learn to fight. It worked out at first, as they mostly had me on gate duty. But then there came a time when I had to go out and fight with my fellow guardsmen. I was scared beyond belief, and when it came time for battle, I ran. I'm afraid I'm nothing but a coward." He says, continuing to pick at the grass. The lady swats his hand, "Tsk tsk," she then cackles once more, staring uncomfortably into Patrick's eyes. "Well well, I'm not sure there's much for a lowly deserter in these parts," she says while grinning, still staring straight into the Adunian's eyes. "Well, I suppose I'll be off then," He grumbles before picking himself up off the ground. "Hah! I was only kidding, sit down," she states, patting the spot where he was sitting down prior. She grabs a few scrolls and some blank pieces of paper before opening her gob once more, "If you can copy these I'll pay you a bit of money, how's that?" Patrick grabs the pieces of paper, eyeing them carefully before piping up, "Sounds good to me." He rises up again, and bids farewell to the hag, stepping outside the tent and back into the muck.