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?))
Not wanting to be rude, Bo quickly sits on the cushion. "Well, I grew up in Petra on a farm on the outskirts of Valfleur, and growing up I always wanted to be a knight of the Round Table. To embrace the ideals of the commonwealth. Truth. Justice. I wanted to root out the villainy the hides the shadows. Then one day, as I was taking the vegetables into town to sell, I saw a crowd of people gathered around a bulletin board, and printed on a huge piece of parchment it said: CITY TREASURER'S THEFT UNCOVERED BY LOCAL SNOOP. It floored me. To think that someone with no armor, banner, or sword could find and foil a plot that the Order of the Petrine Laurel didn't even know about. It's silly, but the possibility had truly never occurred to me. All this to say that ever since that day, I've only wanted to be one thing, a journalist. One who brings villains to justice no matter how much power, status, or influence they may have. Even using underhanded means, if I must." **Bo pauses for a moment, realizing what he just said, interrupting the silence quickly, he says "…Uh, that was a joke, please don't tell anyone I said that." "I need to curate a good reputation if this is going to work." He mumbles, half to himself and half to the woman.
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