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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
"I come from the Sultanate of Kharasi, seeking better fortune. Though I dearly miss the warm sands of my home, the clan intrigues of the Jharar forced me to sail abroad. I come here in search of trade, in the hopes that in my travels I may avail myself to become rich, and return home. I was raised among gifted Qalasheen swordsmen, and am prepared to earn my share as a sellsword in a foreign land if I must."
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