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?))
"Umm.." I say as I creepily sit down. The chair is old and dusty. "I'm from a far off kingdom" , I say as I try to avoid her gaze. I meet her eyes and instant chills are sent down my spine. They are murky-white pools, filled with despair."My kingdom was burnt down and raided by orcs, who were looking for a white mage who apparently found shelter with our leader, Roiner." “Rounder was a wonderful man, a great leader and my father. We were to rule our kingdom together. The last thing he gave me was this sword made by the finest elvish craftsman, as well as this crown I have in my bag.”
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