AceSpiderman

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?)) "My story?" Lázaro pauses, taking a moment to put effort in remembering. "I suppose I'm trying to figure that out myself. I can't seem to remember much before I got...uhh, well this." He takes off his helmet, pointing at the left of his face, the face that was left scarred and burned since months ago. This incident, is fragmented in his memory... however, what was clear to him was it was the result of orcish raids that left him devastated after a rogue group had set their gaze on this young defenseless man, permanently deforming his face. What his memory failed to retain was the years with his family, whom he lost. "I've been wandering around since I got this, looking for a place to go- Hyspia, to join the military...not sure why, just a...feeling.". The old woman responds with her raspy voice, "Maybe.. to find purpose?". Lázaro re-equips his helmet, "Maybe.".