Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
I stumble back fall onto the ground. "Well what is there to tell I'm not an extraordinary warrior." I slowly stand while still backing away from the lady. "Not everyone will be a warrior and yet I sense something in you, something yearning for its release." She said as she examined him.
She sticks a wrinkly, quivering finger towards Daemaris. A sheepish young lad in his younger years. Always off in his own world he stares blankly at the older woman. "No one starts their journey as an extraordinary person Daemaris, you even more so." She said in a louder town as if to catch his attention once more. I clear my throat feeling oddly exposed and a just a tad hurt from her words. "Then where shall I go?" I asked with an inquisitive tone and narrowed my eyes at her. "Anywhere. Anywhere but here that is. Go on, you have an adventure to begin." She scoots him away to wherever he may go but that remains to be seen.
