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.”
Beowulf Velaryon peers at the hag, a strand of bright red hair covering his right eye. He smiles and abides, resting himself on the desired cushion; his expression is one of kindness, yet leaking pride. "My family. We've traveled far before arriving."
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I have. I suppose I'm late, since they've already arrived." Beowulf appears unfazed by the state of the housing in the area. Should it be likely that this was his norm, or if he were generally unbothered? His plain gaze shifted from the hag, dedicating his attention elsewhere. He questions himself, 'Why have we chosen such a town?'. It's too bad he had no say in settling here. Even in such a world, the middle child's opinion is often left unheard.
Beowulf holds his breath, returning his attention to the hag with life returning to eyes. "I'm human, plain and simple. We came in search of greener grass, as our former home was hostile towards our family due to our ancestor's history. It's difficult to live when you're frayed for simple walking outside." He smiles wider and leans, as if interested in his own story. He speaks in a hushed voice, "It's better if you know nothing more. I believe I've already said too much, but surely, you are someone to trust."
He stands up, "I should go. After all, they're waiting." Before the hag could further inquire, Beowulf had walked away.
