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?))
"My name is Otto, Otto Ironheart. My father is a blacksmith and my mother a maid. I, myself am a traveler." I tell the old woman as I sit down onto the cushion. I look around the tent, as the woman goes silent after my answer. "I come from a village from the south, and I was a lonely child. I have been looking for friends and comrades I can battle with and seek glory. I have had a rough journey, and it will not end soon I fear."
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