Bronze__

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?))

Oddly enough- Lazarus took long, slow breaths- enjoying the scent of rot, which bathed this tent- let alone the rest of the dampened town. He faced the elderly woman with an air of familiarity- he'd never seen her before- but he could see the age in her eyes- a woman sooner to die than later- and that, he felt, he knew. He sat down, dodging hanging candles and low-spots in the cramped tent- he was used to living with the height he had. 

Lazarus smiled at the old lady- his facial expression soft, with few emotions displayed. "I've been wandering for some time now. To come upon this town- plagued with rot- Perhaps fate's hand guided me here. Perhaps this is simply the natural cycle of things- . . . It hardly matters where I'm from- if not from my mother's womb..."

He trailed off, gazing at the tent behind the old woman- the moss and mold slowly chipping away at the coverings. He took another deep breath- Many people would find this place off-putting, perhaps disgusting, at best- Downright terrifying at worst, a sign of the inevitable- but the molding and rot, the aged populace.. Lazarus found it reassuring- a sign, that the cycle continued. Birth, Death, Decay- and from it, rebirth. He could never quite pinpoint it- but the feelings he'd felt since he was young- the calling he had towards this cycle, to protect it, to promote it.. Perhaps it was the trauma of losing his father so young, perhaps it was the only way he could cope with his mother's soft decline towards insanity- No, Lazarus chose to believe it was something divine speaking to him- or perhaps, through him. Before there was, there was nothing- and after there is, there will be nothing. Lazarus had studied those powers for years- Devoted his all towards it, into the paradoxes of reality. Perhaps something would come of it. Perhaps nothing would. He hardly cared- he had made that decision long ago. 

He blinked, pulling back to the conversation at hand- "Let us eat, my old friend. I bring bread and wine for you." He reached into the satchel he carried, setting these things on the table before him, with a soft smile. 

(You indicated that I said my OC had magic. Totally understand why- but by 'devoting himself to those powers', I meant he just studied them, made it his livelihood.. Not gained magic with them. He's just a nerd.