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 didn't expect to end up in a place like this when I left home" Asthor said, looking around the tent "But I hope it is better than living in that pit of boredom." He sits down cautiously, to not get his clothes dirty. "I'm Ashtor, or at least that's what my ruffian father used to call me. I used to live in a small village, where hunger and scarcity were the order of the day. My father was alcoholic, and every time he came from working, in the cementery, my mother and I couldn't do anything else than trying to put up with him. One day, it all went out of control, and I saw with my own eyes how she killed her" At this point, Ashtor had his eyes lost in a trance, like if he was living the moment again "Since then, I have had to survive on my own. I don't care what happens to my father, he is none of my bussiness. The only thing that bonds me with him is our blood, and it has no value for me." He turns his head up, to look again to the old lady "I just want to get away from it all, and maybe start again. I want to start living".
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