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?))
"..Just lookin for work ma'am, nothin' more…" he muttered, tensing up. He eyed the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickened with anticipation has we waited for any possible danger. When nothing seemed to be off he sighed in relief. 'Too many nights on the road I guess.' He thought and turned back to the woman. "You know anyone around here lookin' for an extra pair of hands?" He followed her gaze to the axe hanging on his belt. "..Or any other kind of work?" He noted her suspicion and sighed, covering the axe with his coat. "I did all types of work up in the Northern reaches, after that I came down 'ere for a change of pace." He held out his hand to shake. "So I mean it when I say I am content with any opportunities you have."
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