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?))
"Oh, there really isn't much to tell," Merivor says, shaking his head slightly. "I'm from Haense... lived in a small village in the Tundra for most of my childhood. My father was a blacksmith, and he tried to convince me to follow in his footsteps." He chuckles slightly. "As if I was just gonna stay in that little village my whole life. No, I wanted to see the world. I learned the basics, but I got bored real fast. I didn't have the heart to tell him I wasn't interested." He looks down at the floor and continues with a quieter voice than before, "I ran off in the middle of the night. Never said goodbye. I've sorta just been... wandering... for the past year. Taking the odd job to earn coin so I can eat, then moving on."
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