Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Thundir lowers himself onto the cushion with a heavy crunch as the rocky plates sewn into his tunic grind together. he speaks
"Aye... you've a sharp eye, hag" he rumbles, with a voice like gravel sliding down a mountain side.
"name's Thundir Shalehide. Forty-seven winters i've spent carving a life outta the mountain's ribs. these clothes?" he pats down the stone woven fabric with a dull clack.
"Made'em m'self keeps the claws, blades, and curses off me back" he leans forward, the candlelight catching the cracks of his tunic.
"As for why i'm in this swamp... the lands been whisperin somthing wrong beneath these waters. Stone told me to follow the rot and the rot led me here. Now tell me hag... what exactly have you been expectin from Thundir Shalehide?"
Recommended Comments