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.”
Azymondias stood there at first, looking around sceptically at the old, damp and quiet village. The damp walls with vines growing all over them, and the roofs, dripping with water and moss looked to be in complete disrepair. The old crone pushes the seat towards him, to which he looks judgingly, and then at last he seats himself, before quickly standing up to remove his sword and bow so as to sit down comfortably. "So?" started the woman, quickly silenced by Azymondias, with "Are there any towns, villages nearby maybe that need help with defence?" "I dont know how that is re-" quickly cut off by Azymondias (Zym For Short) "Because i want to leave this town as soon as possible, I don't trust it" The old woman looks a little offended, "Who even are you, how do i know you wont bring conflict to our lives?" Zym takes a deep sigh, "fine, im a travelling archer, who will help anyone who needs military assistance, for the right price of course, I hail from Nevaehlen with the hope of reaching Vikela or Amathea, Where i search for work in the army or in farming" The old woman looked the Wood Elf up and down, "Well you look like the rational sort, Amathea is at the root of the peninsula just west of here" Zym beamed with gladness and thanks, "Oh thank you ma'am, I appreciate this alot, if you ever run into me, I owe you a favour" After refitting his personal effects he donned his hood and went out into the rain on his following journey.
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