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?))
“I — am building a stone house. I will construct it with both a storage for my jars and a room to devise tactics against my enemies. However… its territory is adjacent to the quarry owned by Amos of Anglebranches, who is not likened to me. I came to request your wisdom.” The hag flashed a wise, more lady-like look, and diligently specified predetermined land agreements and a suitable barter for his corporal dilemmas and suggested rental prices. She relit the lamp and her elderly curiosity altered her expression. “I’ve known from the beginning you must be a tireless worker, because you intend to build a house but arrive new in this town. I wish you will tell me what your motivation is.” A spark burned in Korchnoigar’s eye, and he looked around the room. “My goal for three years,” he chuckled, “has been to avenge my honor in my hometown.” He stopped, but having observed the old lady’s furtive attentiveness, he resumed. “When I was seven and ten years old, I plowed fields of three neighbors daily. But in order to obtain my earnings, my illegitimate brother Normanson burned tails of elder horses on those fields and excessively claimed I was cursed and a drunkard who demolished their fields. I swore a murderous and foolish oath, but must fulfill it. The years have chained me in this fire… I never miss talking with people who never consider these evils which sell my soul for a higher proof, woman. When my parents discovered my intention, they forced me home, giving protection to him as the firstborn.” She comfortably agreed, and related with instances in townspeople, but through clever discourse found Korchnoigar’s case was more severe than she first thought. “Principled and clever men like you will always stay long enough for dinner. Your company has earned you some goose broth.” Korchnoigar rose up from the cushion, relit the candle, and cleared the center of the tent to dine. He gave her his two loaves of cornbread and said grace, and continued his story. “I soon escaped from my house to destroy Normanson at his apprenticeship, but he fled when he heard me. When I couldn’t find him, I hastily avoided pursuit two towns away. I became apprenticed in horseshoe making to gain access to hide within my master’s numerous barrels of ale.” The old lady asked many questions, and remarked with youthfulness, “You seem more content with your past then your present circumstances. You must have a family if you are building such a massive house. Perhaps you are not the kind to be entertained by company as my dreams had been. It is unfortunate I became so miserable and overworked.” Korchnoigar winced, “That was the only foolishness I ever can predict; I do not have a family, nor has does company repulse me. However, my master had a daughter named Priscilla, who would wash clothes and sing to me. She was betrothed to me, but Hrothgar, Normanson’s son, intended to elope with her. We had known each other my entire apprenticeship, so I was surprised with her dishonesty. Normanson made soups for a fleet, so I vigorously forced through the ship and seized baskets of soup in ale bottles to flee. But when I successfully fought out of the ship, I gave my garments to Priscilla since I had spilled some soup on them in panic. It began raining that night and Hrothgar must have visited Priscilla so they could flee together. However, he smelled his father's special spice having grown ever observing it. He convinced her to set a trap for me by hiding in my way, but I perceived them. Hrothgar jumped at me, but I trapped them both into a nearby well. Suddenly, Hrothgar climbed out of the well and I heard Priscilla scream and choke. He surprised me when he brandished a knife and stabbed at my lower torso. I knew I had to wrestle him long, and I soon caught a strong grip on his body. He screamed when I tore his foot off, and when I punched his face after he fell, he died. Priscilla had drowned when Hrothgar climbed over her. That was the beginning of my second escape." The hag was confused; she had run short of her usually excessive wisdom. However, she found him favorable later in their conversation. "As much as you try," she began, "you are neither the strongest nor bravest man I've ever seen with your brawls and your cunning, but you are undoubtedly the most noble. Now I have indulged myself excessively in your midst, so I have little but to give my blessing in all of your paths." The hag kisses Korchnoigar's hand. He blows out the candle and she leads him out of the tent. (The image below looks like Korchnoigar.)
