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.”
((How do you respond?))
Grond-Narvaka has lived her life on the road. She has had to steal, run, and hide without an end in sight. When she was a child, her family's village was burned down. Her ultimate goal has been to find who did it and teach them a lesson.
The words sent a shiver down her spine, but she did not let it show. Instead, she swallowed and stepped forward, lowering herself onto the worn cushion.
“You know me?” She asked, her voice steady, though her fingers curled slightly against my knee.
“I know what drives you,” the hag said, leaning forward. “I see the embers of a past long buried, and the fire that still burns within you.”
Her jaw tightened. Images flashed in Her mind, flames licking at wooden walls, the screams, the crackling of my home turning to ash. The smell of burning flesh, of loss, of everything that had been stolen from Her before She was even old enough to fight back.
She exhaled through her nose, steadying myself. “Then you know why I’m here.”
The hag nodded slowly. “Revenge.”
She didn’t deny it.
“You wish to find them.”
I nodded.
The old woman’s lips curled again, but this time, there was something deeper in her expression, something unreadable. “The path you seek is not an easy one, nor is it without consequence. Tell me, child, how far are you willing to go?”
She met the hag’s gaze, unblinking. “As far as it takes.”
