Queso_Mage

Character Backstory:

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You 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?))

*I shuffle my hands and rub them together, clearly uneasy. Until I ultimately take a seat*

"I've brought what's required. Let's just get this over with. I just want to see me family again"

My mind rolls through the memories. My childhood, not perfect, but decent. A hard working father, that cared about his kids. But never understood affection, it was foreign to him. Then there was mom. Way more complicated. At some point she had lost most of her memory, I was young, had never found out the details. But she would groan on about "Cerridwen", the other families in the town would often write her off, calling her superstitious, crazy. She would often speak to me about some sort of "ancient magic" when my father wasn't around, but it was mostly incoherent. So the relationship would always be strained, but she cared about her children, in her own way. But theirs was a loveless marriage, hard to maintain one with a mind that was near ruined like hers. But we lived a decent life, certainly more so than others in our town. We were traders, my father ran caravans. Then there was my young wife, the light of my life. She was the daughter of the local blacksmith. Our fathers were in business together. The local lord's son had eyes for her but she always had eyes for me. And there were our two young children. A daughter and a son. Still just babies. But now, all of them, gone. My father had the opportunity to meet many people with means along his journeys. The duke of the region had taken a liking to him. He was offered a seat on his court. He would be offered housing and even a garden, a perfect way to retire. So the family packed up, with hope and excitement for my aging father. No more caravans, this would be his last. And it indeed was. We were on our way, until we were hit by a raid. I should have been there, I could've done something. My mother was going on about "Cerridwen" again, gave me a list of things to forage before night fell, as we were stopped for camp. She was going to attempt one of her secret rituals again, but of course, her memory would always fail her. I would always play along, viewed it as our weird way of having some sort of relationship. I was finding the last herb or two, when I heard the screams & clanging of metal. I was sprinting, harder than I ever had, as I got closer I could see the fire in the twilight. I was too late. Gone, all of them, the blood, the screams, the fire, it's haunted me every night since. Not a night has gone by that I wasn't being put to sleep at the end of a bottle. It was the only way I could sleep. How could I? How long has it been? Days? Weeks? A month? Many months? They've all blended together. 

*I shake my head and rub my eyes as I look back up at the necromancer, desperate*

"Let's begin."