twenty

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 man crouched down, moving the tent curtains away as he walked in, looking around the lowly lit area, finding his way to the cushion, plopping down, sliding his cloak hood off. He brushed the strands of hair that fell, finding himself a bit overwhelmed and fatigued, but made eye contact with the old woman. Her words echoed in his mind, finding itself in thought. He was a man of a few words in times like this, but he opened his mouth to speak, tapping his gloved hand, “I seek a path full of new experiences, to find a good place to learn swordsmanship and carve my way into this bitter world.” His words were monotonous but there was a hidden venomous expression that slithered itself in his tone. “It is all, if other things appear, then I shall grab onto them and try.” With that, he nodded, a little smug expression painted quietly on his lips.