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.”
Grull waddled into the tent, his massive stomach nearly brushing against the sagging fabric of the entrance as he ducked inside. The swamp stink clung to his ragged clothes—a mix of mud, old sweat, and something vaguely fishy. His beady blue eyes squinted in the candlelight as the hag spoke, and he let out a wet snort, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"Expectin’ me? Hah!" he grunted, plopping down onto the cushion with a whump. The thing groaned under his weight, but held. "Ain’t nobody expects Grull. Not even Grull expects Grull most days."
He scratched his bald head, leaving a smear of swamp muck behind. "Story? Eh. Not much to tell. Was huntin’ frogs for stew. Then got lost. Then found this piss-pot town. Smells like home, but with less fightin’." He leaned forward, belched, and then grinned, showing off a few yellowed tusks. "You got food? Or you just yappin’?"
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