somethingdumb222

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?)) Ril Bunev stands there, puzzled, the old woman's words seemingly striking him in such a way that they leave him speechless. As he awkwardly lowered himself with an average level of etiquette, he wondered, " Who… am I?" Perhaps because the answer was always there, or perhaps because of the woman's presence, he immediately knew; he was nobody. As he sat, staring aimlessly at the old woman, he started to speak without even noticing. "I go by Ril, Ril Bunev." Ril's eyes were trained on the old woman, "and I don't think I am who you are looking for. I was granted no fortune in life, no legend speaks of my arrival, and no joy follows where I go. I am simply a nothing, born in some backwater town to a mother who doesn't even know I'm gone, and a father I never knew." His eyes trailed off from the old lady onto the wall of the tent, tattered and grimy, "the only things I can say I'm thankful for from my parents are my name, and the ability to read and write. I was never enough, I wasn't particularly strong, nor good with a sword, and my mother could never afford a proper teacher. I only managed to scrape by in my early years by studying as much as possible from the few books I could scavenge." He sighs and stares at a candle flame dancing in the wind, "but every night before I go to sleep, I see the same thing, I see a procession, people caring about me, the whole world finally seeing me. Stories and legends like the ones I would listen to from my mom, all about my life, how a nobody proved everyone wrong...." Ril catches himself. He was getting more and more excited the more he talked. He always got like this whenever the topic of dreams was brought up. He let out a light chuckle, "I know it's silly, I've heard that my whole life... but... I don't know, it's always just stuck with me." He looks up at the old woman, longing, "but if it really is me you are looking for... if you truly want me... then how can I be of service to you?"

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?)) Ril Bunev blinks, uncertain, his boots squelching on the damp ground as he shifts his weight. The hag's eyes seem to pierce deeper than they should—like she's already rifled through the corners of his soul and revealed his true self, bare. He hesitates, then awkwardly lowers himself onto the cushion. His average frame folds into a cross-legged position with a moderate lack of grace. He glances at the dancing candlelight, then at her again. Her eyes haven't left him. He is cautious, but those eyes, he knows that he must answer with something, so, taking in the wet air, he cautiously says, "...You say you've been expecting me. That makes one of us." He offers a tired smile—more out of habit than charm. "My name's Ril. Ril Bunev. I'm no one of note. I come from a no-name town in some no-name part of the world, born only to a mother who worked too hard, with no father worth remembering. I wasn't born with the blood of kings or the mark of prophecy. No gods ever whispered my name. I'm just a man." He leans forward a little, resting his forearms on his knees. "But I read the old stories. The ones where farmhands slay tyrants, or a forgotten son lifts a kingdom. I know I don't have their skill... but... every night I dream..." Ril trails off, staring at the candles, watching the flame flicker back and forth. He shrugs slightly, letting out a soft yet audible sigh, as his voice softens. "I know it's silly, but can you blame me? To matter, to truly make a difference in someone's life. My whole life I've been average. I wasn't good enough with a sword to be a knight, and we had no money to get a proper tutor for anything. I only managed to scrape by and learn to read and write from my mom. So... I left. I wanted to see the world. Learn its rules. Maybe find something I've missed. Maybe make a difference—somewhere. Even if it's small." He pauses. "That's the story so far. The rest… well, maybe that's why I'm here." He studies her face, cautious but curious. "So, if you really were expecting me—why? What do you know about my story?"