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?))
"How in the name of Urguan do ya know me from, hag?" Thorick demands. He squints his eyes at her and then scowls. "Ah, you're one of them mage folk. My family never trusted your type, but what do I care? You seem alright, despite being a bit... ah... well, spooky. Anyway, I came here looking for some fun. My brothers have grown weary, and they don't fight like used to! I'm here to find another fight, and maybe some shiny baubles to take back home. So, witch, can you give me a fight?"
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