IttyBittyMitty

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?))

The orc wanders through the town, the smell that invade her nostrils is nothing new to her. Her gaze goes across the tents and selects one to duck into. She has no idea why but something deep in her being told her that this would hold many answers of what she sought; as if the very spirits brought her here to bring her closer to her journeys purpose.

Her gaze meets the crones, not flinches in the presence of someone that potentially knew her, but did not know them. It was indeed a sign, one that she would not take for granted. She wordlessly takes a seat in the cushion, gathering her bearings after a long journey through the damp thickets.

"Mi s'ory, hmm? Not'ing too special in the beginning. Fightin' ot'ers, learnin' how t' deal with mi own and seeking glory in dis world." She snorts a bit as she thinks, "Alt'ough, t'ere is more for mi t'an t'at, I believe. A w'ole entire wealth o' wisdom across t'e horizons and 'eople t'at share it. I seek not'ing more t'an t' be a spiritual leader for people t'at wish t' be by mi side, t' share t'is glory an' be empowered by it."

Her gaze stays on the crone, "An' t'at journey has le'd me t' you for whateva reason t'at may be. So I may ask t'e wisdom ya may share, or is it a task t'at you wish for me t' do? Mi ax and honor will finish whateva ya may ask."