BoredBrit

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?))
 

At the gesture to the fraying cushion, Grimni's nose wrinkles. The smell of incense is doing its hardest and yet it still barely covers the mildew and mold that seems to come from every corner of the Hag's tent. He hesitates for a few moments. A lingering glare is given to the various rotting furnishings that the hag seems to call their own. The floating candles cause his eyes to narrow lightly. But eventually, he relents. His heavy set gait carries him toward the cushion and he promptly sits upon it with a thud altogether too wet and too soft for his liking.

"Ae'm not sure what'n th'game is, but ae'll bite if not only f'the sake of 'onourin' your offer of 'ospitality."

As Grimni begins to speak, the hag blows out a foul smelling ring of oddly coloured smoke. Once more, the Dwarf's nose wrinkles in mild distaste, but he continues nonetheless.

"Ae've recently come ashore f'r'it seems ae'm t'bear bad news. Ae've lost m'father an' its up to me t'take up th'mantle that 'es left behind. As a good son should, aye?" 

Grimni pauses at the rhetorical question. His eyes briefly glazing over in thought as though contemplating the answer to his own query. He reaches up a wrapped hand to scratch at his tightly trimmed beard. It is the sound of the Hag clearing her throat with a hawking spit into a nearby spitoon that he continues, albeit with growing annoyance.

"E were th'one t'get me my apprenticeship aboard th'Bearded Lass. A midshipman.. actin' as 'and t'th'Quartermaster. S'done now, though. Ae'm t'take t'th'shore an' inherit what's my due. So's if'n you won't keep me, ae'd like t'be off. Ae've places t'be.. an' this ain't particularly th'one in mind."