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?))
"Expecting me?" Trukk'ar asked seemingly dumbfounded by the sudden statement "Is this a trap? Yet you don't look like my kind" He said, his hands looking for a weapon that wasn't there, instead taking the shape of fists as he glares at the woman. "I've lost my tribe, exiled after bringing shame on it by helping an elven spawnling instead of claiming her skull for my warboss. Did he send you? Does he want to finish the job with assassins?"
Trukk'ar asked as he started walking around the tent, slowly, looking at the old hag for any signs of hostility "No, you're but an old relic of the past, no way you were tasked for this job... so tell me now, how did you know to expect me, when i myself was walking aimlessly, letting the spirits choose my path?" He came to a halt as he looked at the woman, she was calm, too calm for being in the same tent as an orc warrior more than double her size. "Could it be? The spirits.. or the Ancestors, did they tell you?" Trukk'ar asked, his right hand going at the bone armband on his left arm, a worthless thing in the eyes of many, but a deeply important relic for Trukk'ar, who uses it as a way to connect with the spirits and the ancestors, so to always have them with him. "Speak, and speak the truth, for my patience is not infinite" He asked, unsure of what he was going to be told, unsure what life he had to live, even unsure if he had a life to live at all.
"No... you spoke already, you want to know my store, and so i shall tell" He sits, giving one last touch at his armband. "I am Trukk'ar, orc warrior, exhile. I am still young, only being 25, in the eyes of many still but a barely grown kid. Although my kind matures sooner than yours, battle experience is what counts, and I have but less than a decade of that. In my earlier years I dedicated time to perfect my hunting abilities and train for battle... too scared initially to join actual raids. A shame to my people who looked down on me but when I turned 16 I had dreams of battle and slaughter, that's when i joined my first raid, taking it as a sign from the Ancestors themselves. for years I painted my weapons red with blood and brought pride to my Warboss. I was happy, or at least I thought to be happy. On my last raid it all changed. It was a small settlement, I think made by merchants as a temporary camp and storage while they dealt in the area. We attacked, made easy work of their few guards and started looting their merch. That is when I opened a barrel, just to see a small weak elven spawnling hiding. I wasn't alone as another ork saw her and immediately went to hit her with his weapon. Something snapped inside of me as the little elf cried out, my body moving on his own as I instead hit the ork. I took the elf girl and helped run for the woods... When my warboss found out he was furious and challenged me to combat, beating me and exhiling me.. and that's why I am here now."
