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.”
"You say you have been expecting me," he said as his voice steadied through shadowed though the weight of memory. "Perhaps it is so, for I walk not by chance but by the creator's will." As he lowered him self onto the cushion, she gestured to "My name is Caelen," he said plainly, his voice low and measured. "I've no grand tale to boast, only that war has taken much from me, and that faith is the only thing left. I serve where I can, guard when I am needed, and speak the creator's words as best I know how," as he folded his hands together , with a gaze steady but unremarkable. If you wish to hear my story , it is not one of glory, only of duty, loss, and the will to keep living.
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