KillerDroneXLAK

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?)) He would stare silently before ducking down to enter the tent. He would gaze around smelling slight rot he would notice the floating candles. "Magic.." He would turn his attention towards the hag gulping before taking a seat onto the cushion still little off and uneasy. "Weird how you knew i was coming but... I was to little to remember what exactly happened.. Roh Byeder dose not like to talk about it... From what i can remember is nothing but Smoke.. Screams... Blood.. Roh Byeder wants revenge i.. I don't know what i want to young to remember what my Mihr or Fyor were like Not even a single clue on my clahn other then Roh Byeder.. Roh Byeder raised me he wants me to live a good life but i don't want him to just go off and die and leave then id have no one.." He would clear his throat "I just want to make sure i don't lose the last family member i got." Slight tug of a smile "After all better to work together then off alone chances are higher.. I just hope we both can live a good life."

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?)) He hesitates at the threshold before stepping fully into the tent, the smell of damp rot clinging to every breath. His eyes flick to the candles suspended in the air, unease settling into his chest. Magic. Real magic. The kind his brother never trusted. Slowly, he lowers himself onto the cushion, though his posture remains tense, ready to rise at a moment’s notice. “I don’t remember my Clahn,” he begins quietly, his voice steadier than he feels. “Not the way others remember theirs. I remember pieces… smoke in the air, screams I didn’t understand. Arms carrying me through the dark.” His jaw tightens slightly. “My byeder was only a child, yet he carried me through the slaughter. Our Fyor fell. Our home burned. Our Mihir… entrusted everything to him.” His hands curl slightly in his lap. “He became my shield when he should’ve had one of his own.” His eyes lift to meet the hag’s, searching, wary. “I grew up on his silence. On the weight of something neither of us could name. He seeks the truth of that night… and so do I. Not just for vengeance,” he pauses, exhaling slowly, “but because whatever destroyed us did not vanish. I can feel it. Moving. Waiting.”