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?))
"Well," Percival starts, taking a beat to consider her tale. She's been alive a relatively short time, and that time has been far from eventful, "I'm nothing special, really. I'm Petran, which is truly a blessing in Aevos, you would not believe the places some folks come up- Off track, sorry. My mother is Petran as well, but my father hails from Balian, although you wouldn't be able to tell by talking to him. The man is a wall. I had a normal enough childhood, not too wealthy though extremely comfortable, although comfort comes with high expectations. I'm an only child so my parents became very invested in my future marriage, something I've yet to be graced with. Their insistence hasn't faded over time and they're horrified I've struck out on my own unmarried. I plan to in the future, of course, but I can't say I mind the freedom."
