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.”
The squelching of damp mud faded as Radziggan stepped into the tent. This was the first solid ground he had stood upon in many nights, and he resisted the urge of collasping there and then. He removed his his cloak and gently folded it to be placed beside him when he sad. With one less burden weighing him it was immediately easier to focus, and his eyes locked onto the hags before her words had finished. He knew now, atlast, that she is why he had found himself here long past the corners of his known world.
"My story? Im afraid the threads of my greatest feats cannot yet be spun into yarn let alone a tapestry whole". He took great care in placing his cloak to his side as he lowered himself towards the cushion, making sure to holding the sidearm at his hip clear.
"But I am sure that you knew that before calling me here."
The look in the eyes of Radziggan changed quickly after lowering himself, softening somewhat and for a moment he relaxed more than he had in weeks of travel. After a moment he spoke clearly.
"I am Radziggan mac Kinahan" he announced, his posture stiffening yet again, "fourth-born son of Taidhg Kinahan, and as his last living child am heir to our smallholding..." the aroma circling the swamp nagged at his head like a fading memory he could not quite recall.
"But that is irrelevant to my story." He focused again on the hag. "I am travelling in search of service and a chance to prove myself. Not simply as yet another knight in service to a greater man, nor as a lord of insignificant lands... I seek a path that will allow me to carve a name for myself. One beyond the lands of my birth. One to not only serve and honour those I am sworn to but to carve a notch in the pages of history. To paint a picture, blindingly beautiful."
His hand gripped the pommel at his side as he steeled himself once more, as he often did. "My story is that of a fighter. Not of a soldier, nor captain, steward or castellan... one who fights for something greater. What I know for certain is that my story- it will be one of greatness. Greatness or early demise. That is why I have worked my way here.
I have come to you, ready to listen and to learn. I have come for your guidance, ready to endure whatever trials lie ahead...", as he bowed his head forward towards the damp floor he caught what he believed to be a toothless grin from the hag. He had heard many a dark, horrible tale about those who had travelled here, but he was willing to risk everything for his purpose. "Does my answer satisfy you?".
