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?))
Finnley's body tensed, filled with caution. "Why do ya need to know lass?" He asked with an Irish accent. He adjusted his cloak as he sat on a cushion and sighed to start explaining his story. "Well, me father was an elf and me mother was an... adunian but after me father died from hunting, me mother send me off to an orphanage. She wasn't the best anyways lass." He runs his hand through his black hair and continues as his eyes slightly lit up. "I'm here to find a teacher to teach me blacksmithing cause it's me dream to create the greatest weapon in this entire land."
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