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.”
Omdabambo Skullthrasher shifts uncomfortably on the cushion, his torn leather armor showcasing the many battles he'd fought. He meets the crone's gaze, her eyes look deep into his very soul, as if she already knows what he is about to day. "I never wanted to be a killer," Omdabombo mutters, kicking at the rug at his feet. "I was born in a small village, far from this land of fighters and theives. My father was a blacksmith... he cared for his work more than anything, even more than me. Me mother raised me most her life, till the war drove her to near insanity."
His eyes darken, shifting to his hands. "I got mixed up with the wrong kind of folks. Thought I could trust them, that they were the first to see the real me... I was wrong. They betrayed me. Left me with less than nothing. It's taken me a long time to get here. To clean up the mess they left me in, but I did it. Now, enough about me," His fists tighten as he looks up at the old crone, his eyes hard as steel. "Give me what I came for."
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