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.”
" hmm " he grunts as he walks over to sit, as he sits down you can hear the clank of his metal arm as he sets it on the table. " sure, " he takes a long pause" I come from a land where brews are the main source of trade, and I came here to settle to help make some of those brews. " he pauses for a moment to glance at his arm. " The journey took 2 years and on the way I lost my arm however, " he pauses for a breif moment. " I feel it was a worthy price for the destination don't you think."
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