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?)) "It is fortunate to find you in a place like this." He says, confidently. A faint smirk attempts to mask a sense of unease, as he sits down on the cushion. "I am convinced you know far more than you are letting me believe, but I shall go over my tale this once".
"I was birthed in a family with plenty of struggles. My parents were honest tradespeople, attempting to live an honest life-" He says, while trying his best to keep his composure. "Until the day they came... Their appearance resembled the one of common thugs, yet they had much viler plans."
He readjusts himself on the cushion, trying to find a more comfortable position, wanting to believe the discomfort he was feeling was due to his posture.
"Now tell me madam, have you ever experienced something as grotesque as seeing your own pregnant mother be eviscerated in front of your very eyes? Have you felt the pain in hiding, knowing you're powerless?" Visibly shook, he takes a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts. He knows he is not here for pity, nor shall he be granted any. The world is not fair.
He carries on, this time with a more stoic tone. "My father gave me his journal as he hid me, and he whispered to me that while I kept that book close, I would always feel him by my side. In a futile attempt to protect me, he then grabbed his chef's knife and confronted the intruders."
He pauses again, briefly, waiting for any reply from her; alas, she seemed more interested in hearing the rest of what he had to say, rather than commenting.
"It eludes me what saved me that day, 6 years ago. For long I have pondered in search for an answer, yet I soon found that pondering does not fill an empty stomach, and I had not the luxury of time nor resources."
As he says those words, he reaches back into his bag and holds the journal in his hands. He keeps a firm grasp on it, yet careful to not damage it; he struggled to piece together in that one moment how important that journal was to him. Alas, he brings himself to speak once more.
"I could let you know what I found out from the journal, but I'm certain you already know, after all, it was a note from my father I found in here that directed me to you".
Somewhat impatiently, he stands up, putting his journal away with great care. The old lady glares at him, almost imposing onto him to sit back down.
He does just that.
"You must be able to help me understand my family's past and the reason why we were attacked... You must help me, I beg of you" He whispers, while an aura of despair surrounds his body.
"I wish to make my father's dream come true, I want to open a tavern, just as he always wanted, but I cannot do that without knowing my past. And I won't have rest until their souls won't be avenged. I swear it."
