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?))
He takes a seat "It is quite... Complicated to respond that question, but i'll give it a try." He sighs "Long ago, my parents had me in Nevaehlen, my mother was a wood elf and my father was a dark elf, they taught me everything i needed to know about the world, until a certain age. Unfortunately both of them died when i was 15, my father was involved with some dark arts practicers and well, we both know how that ends." After a yawn then, he continues "I grew up doing nothing but studying, stealing and asking for food to strangers, no one had the kindness to offer me a home, a place to stay or a way to help me out other than a coin and some really aged bread. But i'm not here to be a victim, tell me lady, what kind of work can i do here?"
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