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?))
He looks up and down at the elderly woman, noticing the wrinkles on her face and her greying hair. He looks around to see if anyone else is around except the old lady, then he grabs a chair and settles in as steadily and calmly as he can.
As he considers how to tell his story without making it sound like it was taken from a book, he looks at the elderly woman's eyes, lips, and eyes again.
"I grew up in a tiny village. I was not rich or poor; I was simply in a place where life flowed naturally. My parents were weavers—nothing grand but skilled. It was quite peaceful; I would usually sit under a tree, listening to the birds chirp and the wolves howl. But of course, peace never lasted. Raiders arrived and wanted to steal our belongings. The village had no warriors. Only farmers, tradespeople, and a few hunters. I could not do much but hide with my family in our house because I was a child at the time. But when the mercenaries came, I decided to join them. They trained me, teaching me not only how to fight but also when to fight. I would not say I was the best, but for my age, I was quite agile. So, when the raiders returned, I did my due diligence and defended the village, killing at least three before they fled. I was not horrified to see dead people, nor was I sad or angry; I was simply doing my job, which was to defend my home village. Following that, I spent some time with the mercenaries, fighting, travelling, and learning. I never saw it as glory or bloodlust. It was simply a requirement. This is where I received my mask. I chose to keep it on after deciding to betray my comrades. What is the reason? It was really simple. They became raiders themselves, switching from protecting villages to raiding them. Now, I don’t classify myself as a villain or hero, but I have a moral code to not harm unarmed people. I would do villain and hero jobs because I am not confused; I am simply doing my job. This is how I make money. But when I am told to massacre a village with no men to fight back, I simply refuse to consider it because I used to live in a village with no men to fight back. So I decided to kill all of the mercenaries after they were all asleep. I’ve been on the run since, just living through life. That’s about it. That’s my backstory.” He muttered, rubbing his throat and clearing it, easing the strain of speaking for so long.
