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?))
Humphrey the Delious drew in a slow, trembling breath. His face tightened as the words forced their way out.
His kingdom had fallen.
Everything—everyone—was gone.
It had been a bitter, unforgiving night, cold in the way that seeps into bone. As always, Humphrey had been patrolling the gates, loyal and vigilant, when he arrived. The enemy came with an army—merciless and savage. They stole what they wanted, shattered what they couldn’t carry, and slaughtered without hesitation.
His hand struck the table as the memory burned.
Humphrey had failed.
The kingdom’s greatest knight—its first and strongest defender—had been defeated. He had fought with everything he had, but by the time true strength rose within him, it was already too late. The fires had died. The streets were silent. His kingdom was no more.
Once, he had been respected. Feared. Powerful.
Now, he was nothing.
He had come here not as a conqueror, but as a broken man—seeking to reclaim his soul, to find peace, comfort, and some way to forget that dark, cursed day.
Revenge would come.
But not yet.
