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?))
Kruthe looks around cautiously, a hint of disgust littering in his voice as his yellow eyes flickered towards the mysterious hag. Although his immediate reaction is to keep a distance... he can't quite pass up the chance to talk about himself. He opens his mouth for a moment, hesitating as he's not sure what this mystery person's motives are. Regardless, he began to speak. His voice was raspy, and grim, and he would regularly find himself in a coughing fit as he spoke.
"My family and I were scavengers. Never truly belonged-- Humans never managed to accept us. My father was malicious. Attacked a group of humans and ended up getting himself killed. Ever since I've been going town to town... but why do you care, anyway?"
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