Mylo

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?)) She seemed to remain in place for a second, tensing up before her body returned back to a relaxed state. She moved as instructed, taking a seat on the cushion before she spoke, "Well... there isn't much I can say that isn't just my fathers story retold. The armor I'm wearing has been passed down from generations. My great grandfather used to be a mercenary for hire, but with at least a moral compass attached to it. When he died, it got passed to my grandfather and eventually my father. It seemed like with each passing, the morality disappeared." With each couple words, her hands fumbled with loose hanging cloth from her clothing. A breath left her mouth before her words continued, "As you can see now, I'm the next one to carry our name into battle. Unlike my father, I do want to have some morality with my work." She suddenly sat upright and firm, now staring with a stoic look on her face. "It has been a while so I have time to build up a proper name and reputation for my family once more. I'll follow my great grandfathers legacy like he wished." She stood up from the cushion before she stared at the old hag for one last time. "Even if it's the last thing I'll do," she spoke out softly. With her last words spoken, she made her way out of the hags tent.

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?)) She seemed to remain in place for a second, tensing up before her body returned back to a relaxed state. She moved as instructed, taking a seat on the cushion before she spoke, "Well... there isn't much I can say that isn't just my fathers story retold. The armor I'm wearing has been passed down from generations. My great grandfather used to be a mercenary for hire, but with at least a moral compass attached to it. When he died, it got passed to my grandfather and eventually my father. It seemed like with each passing, the morality disappeared." With each couple words, her hands fumbled with loose hanging cloth from her clothing. A breath left her mouth before her words continued, "As you can see now, I'm the next one to carry our name into battle. Unlike my father, I do want to have some morality with my work." She suddenly sat upright and firm, now staring with a stoic look on her face. "It has been a while so I have time to build up a proper name and reputation for my family once more. I'll follow my great grandfathers legacy like he wished." She stood up from the cushion before she stared at the old hag for one last time. "Even if it's the last thing I'll do," she spoke out softly. With her last words spoken, she made her way out of the hags tent.