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.”
James stepped further into the tent, the damp air clinging to his clothes as the candlelight flickered around him.
"You’ve been expecting me?" he repeated, arching a brow. A smirk ghosted across his lips, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "Strange. I wasn’t expecting you."
He sank onto the offered cushion, shifting until he found a position that didn’t make him feel like prey. He exhaled, glancing at the shadows stretching across the canvas walls.
"My story?" He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "It begins in Balain, with wheat fields that never changed and a life too predictable to hold me." His voice softened, as if tasting the words before giving them away. "I worked the land, tended livestock, traded at market. It was an honest life, but it was never enough."
His gaze flicked toward the hag, searching for some trace of understanding in her expression. "So I left, joined a trade caravan heading for distant cities. We carried fine things—textiles, spices, goods meant for merchants with heavy purses. For a while, I thought I'd found my place."
A pause. His hands curled into loose fists against his knees.
"But fate doesn't care for plans, does it?" His voice dropped, tinged with something bitter. "A bridge—old, rotting, waiting for the right moment—collapsed beneath us. The river swallowed the wagons, the horses, the traders. One moment we were laughing over a meal, the next, we were fighting to breathe."
He exhaled sharply, shaking off the memory. "I made it to shore. The others weren’t so lucky. The caravan, the trade, the future I thought I had—it was all gone, washed away in an instant."
James lifted his gaze to meet the hag’s, his expression unreadable. "So here I am. No farm to return to, no road to follow—just a man looking for his next path. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find it in this town."
