pomelos

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?)) Met with the light and warmth of a candle immediately sets Mathilde's shoulders down, her body visibly uncoiling from the oppressive air outside. Tattered as the tent was, the appearance of another turns the woman's stomach as her skin prickles with goosebumps. A moment, two, before she finally blinks away the shock and takes the cushion offered.. "I.. I um, I am afraid there is not much to tell," she begins, fingers running across the embroidery of her skirts. "First I- I sincerely apologise for barging in, I .." Finally, her gaze lowers, cheeks heated pink. The tips of her fingers dig against her thin clothing. "My story. Well, as I said, there is not much. A typical story, where I am from. A raid that destroys your farm, your village, your family .. the guilt and the long road after .. We were only simple people, you see. And I suppose I still am, really. All I desire is a place for my roots. A small home, some good work and good food. I .. don't suppose I might find such a thing here? I have been traveling a good while. Since I was but a girl, and .." Her lips pull into a soft smile, not daring to reach her eyes. "I am tired, ma'am. I wish for a home, and a future. Not to reminisce on.." She trails off, her gaze drifting to the fuzzing light of the floating candles. ---------------------------------- Some points about Mathilde: Wasn’t close to her father, he was relatively distant, working hard at the fields and drinking deep into his cups at night. He was strict and somewhat violent when people stepped out of his expectations. She dislikes the smell of beer, especially on the breath. Other alcohols she has no experience with. Her mother was closer to her, but allowed her husband’s behaviour, even selling out her children to avoid getting a beating herself. Cared very much about marrying her daughters off within the small social schism of their village and pressuring her sons to achieve anything to make their lives easier. She is a middle child. A set of younger twin siblings. An older sister. Two older brothers. Closest to her older sister, and had to part-raise her younger siblings. It was the only life she knew, but she has guilt around the freedom she so wished for that their tragedy bought her. While she does not know the source of the raid on the farmstead, and assumes it was bandits or the like, it was actually a group of debt collectors who had lost faith in her father. His drinking and gambling had put them long in the red, and he had concealed it until the point that the loan sharks were inclined to act. It was not meant to get violent, but her elder brother drew a sword, and things dissolved from there. It is possible that she is being tailed for her father's lack of responsibility. Generally quite nervous and a little paranoid after the raid on her farmstead. Desperately wants somewhere to dedicate herself to in return for safety and comfort, instead of the wilds. Has anxiety around interacting with others, and it reflects in her speech pattern, never sure about what will get her into an unfavourable situation. Often, she keeps quiet or tries to say what she thinks the other person will like. Did not escape the raid unscathed. As she was fleeing, she was hit in her right shoulder with an arrow. She did her best to patch it up in the aftermath, but she didn’t know how to heal aside from seeing to cuts, scrapes and burns from farm life. It did not heal right, and scarred. The rain and cold weather increases the pain from a dull throb to sharper pangs that make it difficult for her to use her right arm with any comfort. Luckily, she is left-handed. She managed to get through the mild infection, thanks to her hearty disposition, but it left her somewhat frail and susceptible to illnesses. She also suffers from survivor’s guilt, as she doesn’t know if any of her family still live. She assumes the others who fled were shot and killed, or straight up murdered. Alongside her shoulder scarring, she has small scars on her hands from living in the wilds for a couple months as she wandered and foraged for survival.