Sephyrl

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?)) "You say you were expecting me… and yet I can't help but wonder why." He glances at the flickering candles, letting the warmth brush his face as his fingers trace the edge of the cushion before sitting down. "I'm not sure if my story is really anything interesting to listen to, but it's a story nonetheless." Eleison closes his eyes and softly exhales before uttering a few inaudible words to himself. "I come from Idunia, and it's also the place where I grew up. It's quite a nice place over there with its bustling markets and natural greenery. Can't say I don't miss it there..." Eleison turns his head to the side, deliberately avoiding the old hag's gaze. "Other than that, I do have parents much like most people do. However, their ways of parenting were not the best." His face contorts a little, seemingly disturbed by the mention of his parents. "If there's a way to describe them, it would be that they were distant in my life. I did have the basic necessities growing up like food, water, shelter... and I guess a few gifts such as a diary. But that was about it. They were busy pursuing their own careers and ambitions, spending little time with me and barely showed any love to me." Eleison heaves a sigh before glancing back at the old hag, the air tense. "My extended family wasn't that different either. So formal and reserved. They encouraged self-reliance, always telling me that I should take care of myself on my own. It's hard to believe that any of my family members even loved me, but I used to feed into my delusions and believed that they really did care about me. Maybe I was right in the past, but I can't seem to care about it anymore, so I have never ever bothered myself with the question of 'did my parents ever love me'." He chuckles to himself, not knowing what to feel about what he had just said. "I'm glad that you are still listening, but that's not the end of what I have to say for my story." "There was a time during my childhood where I had discovered some... uh... 'information' that could have prevented harm to others. I did not know what to do with the information I had found and thought to myself: 'This is a joke!'. It was not a joke, and neither was the consequences of not telling the authorities of the information." Eleison tries to force a smile, even while his face shows distress. The suspended candles that once warmed the atmosphere seemed to now do the opposite. "And... the consequences were lives taken by a raging fire that burnt down a small town. Even though there were still some survivors of the incident, many of the residents had their lives taken away from them, and I can't help but to feel slightly responsible for that. After all, I could have been the one to stop such an incident from ever occurring." "As young as I was back then, I did not want my parents to find out about my 'involvement' in this situation. I had tried so hard to cover my tracks, as if I was the one who set the fire to the town. Eventually, they did find out that I had withheld the information that could have stopped the fire. They said that I should have been more responsible and told the authorities of the information I had, and that because of me, people had died and many homes were destroyed. I-" Abruptly, he stops speaking, clenching his lips while looking slightly down on the ground with a blank stare. "...Ever since that day, I spent my days cooped up in my room reading books. I soon began writing books as well. I was alone, sitting in my old shabby chair, writing stories on my dilapidated desk. It was my escape from this reality, and that freedom from reality was... delightful." A seemingly genuine smile slowly forms on his face. "My whole life has changed. My life was full of stories I had both read and written. Even in the depths of what seemed like despair, I had learned to pick myself up and do what I wanted to do. And you know... I suppose my 'family' really did make me independent like they had always wanted." He pauses for a moment, thinking of something else to say as the cold wind blows past his face. "Slowly but surely, I jotted down pieces of my life. Stories that I could share. In the end, my goal is to discover the truth of the world, whatever that means." Eleison reaches into his worn-out leather pouch and shows the old hag a few trinkets from his travels. "And so, I set off to travel to many places around the world, hoping to learn different cultures, meet new people, and listen to others' stories as well as make new stories of my own. That's also one of the reasons I'm here today!" Eleison stretches his arms and straightens his back. "Ultimately, every person is the writer of their own story." He grins at the old hag, looking at her with curiosity. "What's your story, old lady?"