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?))
"I don't find it necessary to share my plans and information with a stranger. I feel it is best that everyone minds their own business." Artaras states with a subtle glare. Growing up in the Underdark has supplied him with an untrusting nature toward those he does not personally consort with, and even most of the folk he does. His guarded, untrusting nature comes with drawbacks, this is true, but it has kept him out of harm's way more than once. Besides, he only plans to pass through anyways -- he would rather wrestle with a Minotaur on one leg than stay here longer than necessary.
Any family that Artaras had in the Underdark have long since perished or exiled him for leaving, so he prefers to travel on his own. Seeking to disavow the cruel nature of his kind, Artaras is in search of a calm, passerby town to settle into and carve his name into the world.
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