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?))
The young orc timidly sat down on the cushion, his hands slowly folding into his lap. He had a look of shame that covered his bloodshot-eyes, slowly dropping behind a layer of shadow as his head tipped downwards to avert the woman's gaze.
"Theres' not much to my story." He began, a finger raising from his lap and scratching along his protruding jaw. "Grew up in a smaller clan, clan that didn't respect me very much. Not that I didn't want to connect, but I just wasn't strong enough. I didn't have the bloodlust that most my kin have, it.. scares me sometimes." A half truth revealed in a small crack of the brute's voice, he hadn't tried as much as he would've hoped.
"Bah.." There was a sheepish wave, dismissively tossing the notion aside as he came clean. "I never tried using it, that rage. I could feel it, control it, but I neva' used it on anything other than huntin' game." The orc spoke with a hint of nervousness, his waving hand shifting to the back of his neck, nails scratching slowly along rough leathery skin. "Got called a coward for avoidin' bigger game, or other warriors. Eventually I left and became an outcast, roam the open world I do." That seemed to bring a lighter smile to his face, he was happy being a lone wanderer.
"Learn what I can learn, fight what I can fight, live honest and humble I will." His smile grew into a toothy grin, his head raising to face the elderly woman before standing and taking his leave with a small bow, and to return to the beaten path that he's been travelling.
