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 that doesn't seem ominous. But I'll not disrespect an elder offering shelter." I take a seat on the cushion laid opposite the fire from the crone. Perhaps she really had been expecting my company?
”Have you perhaps already met my brother and sister then? Victor and Atriana Rorin? I’ve come to bring news of our family…as well as join the ranks of Runaway Rorins. Or maybe that’s not right. We are the Returned Rorins. We boast a proud lineage here in your land. I want to learn the history of your land and our family’s place in it. Ezekiel Tarus is my best lead, and I’d like to scour your libraries for knowledge on your history.”
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