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?)):
Normann sits with a bit of a puzzled look on his face, then slowly sits down and without thinking he started talking. "my story, well I am not really sure about that, more of a ripped page of one, I woke about an day ago in a dich on the side of the road, I must have hit my head, I remember my name and... gods, it that it?" he says scratching his head, an concerned look on his head. "nothing, all I have is a name" he says with a sigh. "to be honest I don't no what is next in my story but I plan on remembering this one" he says with small smile.
He wears a black short coat with two rough-looking leather bracers
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