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?))
"Bogrum is my name." Unaware of the old woman's tales herself, she seemed aware of so much. Him included, in such a world that he was not yet known. "I suppose asking you about how you come to know me is pretty redundant," A hand swiped down his face as he begrudgingly lowered his guard ever so slightly, "I come from Lurak raised and born through warfare. Hardened.. Blood seeps over and under my skin."
"I hold only my goals for triumph and to bring change for the children after me.", A quiet huff came from the voice that blared int he room. His tone and volume already loud and booming despite it feeling so low to him. Unnatural was the world beyond the veils of his own home. Yet he bore himself fruit and aimed to find himself in the learnings of the world. The mind of a Goblin, and the body of Olog, so carefully knit. He could only hope their practices birthed him greatness.
