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.”
"For your benefit hag, I wouldn't stick my nose in places where you can lose it, (drop slumps onto the cushion) but I don't know if its the grog talking, or the fact that we will never meet again, but ill give you some yap to pass the time as I wait for dawn." he stares at his hands and picks at his nails. "I'm a Brown, born to a poor sod of a potato farmer (shrugs), but that was never enough for me you see, I didn't want to be another insignificant peasant, so when we first suspected our crop was going sour, I took the first opportunity to get out, It was hard on my younger brothers, to just leave, but my stubborn family grasped to a false hope, which paid dividends in plague and famine." He leans his head back. "But, I knew my brothers were fighters, I knew they would figure eventually that that damned farm would be the end of the family, Hell, so far all I've found employment as is a lowly gate guard and caravan escort but those jobs kept me better fed that the dust bowl I came from." He leans his head against his shield plants in the ground. "I've heard by some word of mouth that a group of those by the name of Brown have joined the Lansers, and I wish to reunite and follow suit. I head out in the morning, to start this new adventure."
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