My friend Coronate told me to come play with him on the server.
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 step into the tent, ducking under the flap. It smells like mold and wet mud, and the candles hanging from strings swing around like they’re alive. The old hag sitting in the back looks up, her mouth half open, breathing all heavy and wheezy. “What brings you to this dingy town?” she says, then squints at me before picking her nose to eat. “Ah... it’s you. I been expectin’ you. Sit.” I sit down on the cushion. It’s damp. “Mine names Ives,” I say. “My family....... they were killed by orcs when I was a kid. Their leader Grul he’s the one who did it.” The hag blinks slow, her mouth still kinda open. “Grul...... huh.” She mutters. “Hes still breathing’. Mean orc, that orc. Big, loud. Smells like rust and death and shit.” She snorts and wipes her nose with her sleeve. “Yeah.” I say. “He didn’t kill me. Took me instead. Raised me like one of ‘em. Taught me how to fight, how to survive. Said it was mercy. I think it was a joke.” The candles flicker and one goes out. “The elves hate me,” I say quietly. “They see the orc scars and turn their backs. Fine by me. I hate ‘em too. They didn’t help when my village burned. Just watched.” The hag starts breathing louder, like she’s thinking hard. “If you’re lookin’ for Grul,” she says finally, “then maybe he’s lookin’ for you too.”
