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?))
“Oh… me?” he mutters, sitting down with an embarrassed shuffle before he begins. “I grew up with my twin brother, Alexander, spending most of our childhood learning blacksmithing from our dad in a cramped, noisy forge.” “I never really had a mom, since she passed when I was too young to remember anything but the feeling of her hands.” With a hesitant tug, he opens his shirt and reveals the burn scar on his chest, saying, “This happened when I was four, when hot iron dripped on me.” “I also can’t read, since words fly around on the page like annoying little mosquitos I can never catch.” “And… I know I’m really skinny, but that’s just how it’s always been for me.” He finishes quietly, “There’s not much more to say—just that I’m trying my best with what I’ve got.”
