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?))
*Her brows furrow as she slowly edges forward, sitting comfortably down into the cushion, adjusting her short wolfskin capelet before leaning back slightly, glancing around slowly as her brows loosened
"Well...I suppose you have your reasons for wishing to know a story of such small a creature as myself, why don't we at least bargain? I'll tell you, if I get something in return." She said, a smirk forming at the corners of her mouth*
*After some brief small talk, Freya begins her story
"I come from the great city of Urguan, but I live in the mountains with my fellow clanmen. Stormfist, not too far related from the great Frostbeards actually...hah" She says, letting out a brief chuckle
"Anyways, I, albeit a female dwarf have learned the art of smithing like my clanmen, I have grown up around the clang of hammers and glow of molten metal way up in the sky, where there is none to bother us. I have learned the works of my ancestors craftsmanship, I hope to one day please Yemekar in doing this...My mother and father are old, reaching their 800th birthdays in the coming years and yet, I fear that in their final days they will not witness me bring honour and glory to our family and clan. Thus I set off from Urguan, I no longer wish to be a beardling, but to return having travelled the realm, making the craftsmanship of my kind and clan known to all!" She said, seeming rather deep in thought, part worry yet excitement written across her face as she slowly brushed a piece of fallen hair away, sighing before continuing on
"I am but a female beardling, we are few, and therefore must be great - I suppose if I am not great for my clan and kind, I will fail in bringing glory to my kind, and might not please the gods..." Speaking in a solemn tone, as her eyes wandered, she seemed to fiddle with a small gold coin having been pulled from her pocked, sunken back into her cushion she looked up slowly to the hag
"I wish to return home with gold and glory, accumulating the skills and knowledge of smithing from anyone I can to improve my craft...to carve my own legend into the annals of dwarven history and prove that the spirit of the mountain dwarves burns as bright as ever."
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