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?))
Locke sat down in front of the woman, walking towards her with a small basket of fruit, he sighed finally able to relax. "I have been foraging, for fruit... You see, I've always wished of having a thriving farm, in a small estate with family, though with little knowledge of my roots after an accident with bandits stealing from me in a distant forage... I do not recall." He shifts slightly. "From a human settlement, definitely; though I only recall my time in the woods, bargaining with caravaners to get by with what I could." His eyes drifted to the ceiling, watering a little from the dampness and scent of moss, which perturbed his senses to the point of nearly sneezing. "Ah.. my apologies, the pollen this time of season, truly abhorrent.." He then continued. "I suppose you could call me a peasant, then. Truly I have naught to my name, though I suppose my heart is bigger than that, which makes me just as human as anyone else." He smiled. He tucked back his blond hair, curled over his face and frizzy from the recent humidity. "But I am hopeful for my future, maybe I will no longer wander and find a place to live, perhaps with a family... a chosen family, and provide for them, as I have not been educated enough to be smart; nor strong enough to fight." He sighed. "It is a shame, I feel so weak and powerless in this world."
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