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?))
"You have been expecting me?" he chuckles and slowly sinks to the floor, crossing his legs "That is not a common opinion." he grins, before rubbing his chin in thought. "My story.." he leans back on his hands "My mother was a beggar, I left her of my own accord to pursue a life in the woods, Where I followed my interests of herbology and swordplay." he grins, the thoughts bringing back fond memories "And you?"
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