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 air in the tent was thick with the scent of old incense and dust. Kabaz examined the witch's wizened face, searching his memory for any hint of recognition, but found none. "You... you've been expecting me?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
The old hag offered no answer, her milky eyes merely studying him with an unnerving intensity. He understood the silent prompt. "You want me to answer your questions first, correct?" A slow, almost imperceptible nod was his only reply.
Kabaz took a steadying breath, composing himself before he began to speak. "I hail from the eastern steppes, a land of horses and vast, endless skies." His eyes grew distant, filling with a potent mix of pride and sorrow. "My people and I were forced to flee our ancestral lands, desperate to escape a creeping shadow of doom and destruction. Our leaders, entrenched in their endless rivalries, wage war upon one another without a second thought. It is never their homes that are put to the torch, nor their children taken into slavery."
He paused, the memories a sharp ache in his chest. "I have come here searching for a place I might finally call home. While my soul will always yearn for the freedom of the steppes, I know in my heart that the constant tribal conflicts will eventually consume everything I hold dear. I seek not just safety, but a future."
